


Stiles' Ultimate Gift

by LillianDeLooney



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (Small) Sexuality Crisis, Alternate Universe - Farm/Ranch, Alternate Universe - Human, But he's working on it, Chronic Illness, Claudia Stilinski's Death, Cuddling & Snuggling, Derek is a Good Dad, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff on a farm, Hale Family Feels, Humor, Hurt Derek, Hurt Stiles, Kid Fic, M/M, Mother-Son Relationship, POV Stiles, Rich Stiles Stilinski, Sexual Content, Single Parent Derek, Slow Build, Stiles is kind of an asshole, Stiles' family is rich, The Ultimate Gift AU, Unresolved Sexual Tension, spoiled!Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-22 16:55:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 44,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3736525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LillianDeLooney/pseuds/LillianDeLooney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is a spoiled brat who’s sent away to the Hale Family Farm to learn a lesson in respect and hard work. Naturally, he isn't happy about it, but that changes when he meets a very special little girl and her amazing father . . . </p><p> </p><p>  <i>“What about you Stiles?” Derek's daughter, Kenny, asks innocently. “Are you gay?”</i></p><p>  <i>He chokes on his own spit and quickly downs the remainder of his coke, ignoring the blush stretching from his head all the way to his chest.</i></p><p>  <i>“I ah,” he clears his throat awkwardly and rubs a hand over his neck. “I might be?”</i></p><p>  <i>She sends him a knowing little smile and nods. “Good.”</i></p><p> </p><p>~ A story about how to live life, not how to spend it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a while ago one of my old teachers in college made us watch the movie “The Ultimate Gift’ together. If you haven’t seen it yet, go watch it and cry your eyes out, it’s beautiful. Anyway, the whole idea of that movie got stuck in my brain and now it’s a fic ^^  
> (It’s also a book by the way, haven’t gotten around to reading it though, so I’ll stick with inspiration from the movie).
> 
> I follow the big lines of the movie, and some dialogue was shamelessly copied because it was too perfect, but I tried to make it it's own story.  
> Also for those of you who might be worried about Malia being a character: she and Stiles hook up sometimes, but in the fic all they ever do is talk, so no worries :)
> 
> Now, enough talking, go read!

 

** Prologue **

 

**June**

 

Stiles is drunk.

And it’s not like he needs a good reason to be drunk, he can do whatever the hell he wants, yet this time he actually _does_ have a reason.

See, just this afternoon he graduated from high school. Thank fucking _finally_. So that means no more fake cheerleaders hanging around for his attention, no more late night blocking for stuff he’s already forgotten and wouldn’t have been useful anyway, no more fucking _Harris._

It is a good time to be drunk.

A few more weeks and he’ll be off to college. He’ll finally be able to get out of this hellhole of a town that calls itself ‘Beacon Hills’. It all sounds very prestigious, but aside from the places either his family or the Whittemores own, it’s basically all just plain poor people. He can’t be positive, he doesn’t associate with the lower class, but that’s what the town’s population looks like if you ask him.

So anyway, of course Jackson (Whittemore, the guy who claims to be everybody’s type even though ‘everybody’ seems to prefer Stiles) is throwing the graduation party at his house, which is where he currently is and where he found the booze to get this drunk.

Right now, he’s standing in the backyard near the pool house, nursing a beer. Jackson is passed out in the deckchair beside him, snoring obnoxiously loud. Lydia and Erica (captain and co-captain of the cheerleaders respectively) are standing next to him, probably just as drunk.

He eyes the pool through narrowed eyes, slinging one arm around Lydia’s shoulder, the other around Erica’s.

“Who wants to go skinny-dipping?”

The girls giggle, toying with the hem of his shirt and slowly shifting it up his body, taking it off. Erica is about to start on his belt when someone he doesn’t know nor cares about comes crashing out of the house, and Stiles can guess what’s going on before the words even leave his mouth.

“COPS!”

What a surprise.

He places a kiss on both of the girls’ cheeks. “Time to go,” he drawls and sprints (okay, it’s more like he ‘drunkenly stumbles’) to the back of Jackson’s yard, jumping over the fence like he has countless times before and escapes into the backstreets.

When he’s stumbled far enough away from the house and the party, he calls his chauffeur to come and pick him up. It’s merely a few minutes later when the man shows up. Jeeves (that’s not his real name, but Stiles has decided a long time ago that this name suits him better), knows not to ask questions by now.

His father is already asleep by the time he gets back to the family estate. Or well, he’s in his own suite anyway. Either way it’s not like he doesn’t know what Stiles has been up to. Nor does he really care.

He drags himself up the stairs to his own suite, making a beeline to the bathroom to vomit before throwing himself onto his bed, refusing to change into something more comfortable and just letting himself pass out on the spot.

Yeah, it’s a good time to be drunk.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles is _dying_.

He has the world’s most horrible hangover and is puking his guts out in the toilet bowl he’s currently clinging to for dear life, Melissa (one of the maids) quietly laughing at his expense at the door.

“Want me to bring you some medicine, sir?” she questions mockingly when his stomach settles for the moment. “Maybe draw you a nice, warm bath?”

“Fuck off, Melissa.”

She tsk-s. “Now what would your mother say?”

“My mother is dead.”

“Yes,” she sighs, “and she would turn in her grave if she were to see you right now.”

“Good thing she’s cremated then,” he snaps back before dry-heaving again. “Ugh, fine, bring me medicine.”

“Would it kill you to say ‘please’ for once,” she asks rhetorically, but ruffles his hair affectionately on her way out anyway. He bats her hand away half-heartedly.

He sighs. Melissa is one of the few people who refuses to take his shit when he orders her around. Not that surprising, since she’s been around since he was a baby and was probably more of a mother-figure to him then his own mother ever was, since the woman worked all the goddamned time and – like the rest of the family – only ever cared about money.

In fact, she was the one who inherited control over the family money when his grandfather died. Now that she’s dead as well, most of the family inheritance has been divided among the family, although it’s mostly just the various pieces of estate they own. Mr Deaton, her lawyer and trusted friend for as long as Stiles can remember, had read his mother’s will to the family, most of his aunts and uncles leaving with sour faces, unsatisfied with what his mother left them.

Mr Deaton, however, told Stiles that he had to wait six more years until he was eighteen, to find out what his mother has left _him._

And now that time has finally come.

His stomach protests loudly and he groans, cursing the person who discovered alcohol and decided to share it with the world. Stupid stuff should be illegal.

After Melissa comes back with some medicine and a glass of water (which he almost pukes right back up), he crawls back into bed, passing out again.  


* * *

 

This time when he wakes up, he only has a mild headache and his stomach thankfully remains quiet. He takes a long shower, then takes some more Advil and makes his way downstairs and into the kitchen.

“Good afternoon, sir,” Grace (another maid) greets him. “Would you like some breakfast?”

He lets his head fall to the table with a groan, begging his stomach not to react badly to the promise of food.

“Just cure my hangover,” he whines.

Someone snorts from the entrance to the kitchen and Stiles rolls his head to the side to see who it is. He groans again.

“Yo Dad.”

“Morning son,” his father responds, taking a seat across from him at the table and opening the newspaper with a subtle smirk. “Have fun last night?”

Again, he groans, sending his dad a scowl. “It’s disturbing how much pleasure you take in seeing me like this.”

His dad nods, taking a sip from his coffee. “I just like seeing you regret your bad life choices. No harm in that.”

“I second that,” Melissa agrees as she walks into the kitchen. “At least try to save _some_ of your brain cells.”

Grace just sticks her tongue out at him when he looks at her for help.

“You’re all evil,” he grouses, finally finding the strength to sit upright and eat his breakfast.

His dad chuckles. “Guess you’ll have to learn how to live with that.”

“Well I’ll be out of here soon enough anyway,” he mutters petulantly. “College life will suit me.”

His dad looks up from the paper, eyeing him with raised eyebrows. “That so?” he asks. “And with what money were you planning on paying for that?”

Stiles frowns. “Yours?”

His dad scoffs. “I don’t think so.”

“What?” he splutters, “I’m your son!”

“Yes,” his father concedes, “but you’re also – as you’ve reminded me off innumerable times before – an adult now. Which means I don’t legally have to provide for you anymore.”

He huffs. “Well, I’ll just use my own money then.”

The man snorts again. “You don’t have any money, kid.”

“Well not yet, I don’t,” Stiles flails. “But I will when you and Deaton finally decide to read Mom’s will to me!”

His dad gets a small, knowing smile on his lips and Stiles doesn’t know if he should be annoyed or really, really scared right now.

“As you wish,” his dad says, looking back down to continue reading his paper.

 

* * *

 

Today is the day.

Stiles is finally going to find out just how much money his mother left him. He’s sitting at a large conference table, Mr Deaton and his assistant – Ms Morrell – sitting across from him. The man is holding a sealed envelope between his fingers, eyes boring into his.

“You sure you’re ready for this?” he asks.

He scowls. “Just hand me the damned envelope, dickwad.”

Has he mentioned that Deaton and him don’t really get along? Never have, honestly. Morrell is okay, he supposes, but Deaton? Insufferable. He never says exactly what Stiles wants to hear, is never to the point, always circling around it and leaving Stiles frustrated every single fucking time. Even after all these years, the guy is a goddamned mystery to him.

Come to think of it, that’s probably why his mother liked him so much.

He holds his open hand out, raising his eyebrows at the man, who finally relents and hands the envelope over.

"Suit yourself," he muses with a small smirk Stiles wants to wipe off his face. The guy’s lucky his priorities lie somewhere else right now.

He takes a deep breath and opens the envelope greedily, snatching the letter out of it and unfolding it to read its contents.  


_Well son, if you’re reading this than I must be dead. It’s a strange concept. If everything went according to plan, as I’m sure it did, you’re eighteen now, about to go to college._

_It was probably a long time ago, but was my funeral well attended? I hope it rained. That family of mine deserves it._

_Szczęsny_ _, or_ Stiles _, as I’m sure you still like to call yourself, I made a lot of mistakes with our family, but . . . you’re the one I think I hurt the most. The only way I think I can make it up to you is to not give you anything._

 

“That bitch,” he growls under his breath, but wills himself to read the rest.

 

_You’re probably scoffing right now, calling me profanities and demanding the money you earn, but the truth remains that I failed you. My own son. So this is the way it’s gonna be._

_What I mean by not giving you anything, is I’m not giving you anything just yet, so I hope you were able to hold your anger there for a second and didn’t burn my letter. Just keep reading._

_You know, I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. How can I give you something without ruining you like the rest of the family? So, I want to give you a gift. A series of gifts, leading up to . . . well. I’d like to call it ‘the ultimate gift’._

_So I will give you a series of tasks you will have to fulfil and when you do . . . well, you’ll get your reward._

_But when you fail in any way it’s over, you get nothing. And everything you do must be to Mr Deaton’s satisfaction. You might want to make friends with him sooner rather than later._

_Now, I think it’s about time for your first task, don’t you think? Ask Deaton. When you’re finished with this one, he’ll give you my next letter._

_~ Your mother.  
_

 

“This is bullshit,” he snaps, scowling at the duo across the table.

“Did you read the part about befriending me, Mr Stilinski?” the man reminds him, ignoring Stiles’ angry face completely.

A young girl enters the conference room and hands Deaton a piece of paper before leaving again.

“Ah good. You have a flight to Houston tomorrow at seven am,” he says, handing him the paper.

“Seven?” Stiles repeats. “As in _morning_ seven am?”

He’s already regretting this, Jesus fucking Christ. He shouldn’t have expected anything else from his mother, honestly.

“Yes, that seven am,” Deaton nods.

“What the hell for?”

“Stiles, if you want your inheritance, you accept.”

He balls his fist, ignoring him. “Why do I have to go?”

Deaton shrugs. “You’ll find out when you get there.”

“This is ridiculous,” he says, shaking his head and turning to leave the room.

“You might wanna rethink that,” Deaton calls after him with an infuriatingly calm voice, making him turn back towards them.

“What could she possibly give me that she hasn’t already taken away?” he asks. “Huh? Screw her, screw both of you.”

With that he turns back around to the door, actually leaving the room this time and slamming the door behind him.  


* * *

 

  
  
“How was your day?” Malia asks him as she enters the room.

He’s at another party at Jackson’s house, this one to celebrate the ‘start of summer’. He doesn’t really care what the occasion is, as long as there’s alcohol.

Malia tilts her head at him in question, leaning her body against the doorpost. Malia is kind of his on-again-off-again girlfriend . . . or more like hook-up, really. He’s not sure what they are right now. He shakes his head.

“Not sure.”

“How come?” she asks, joining him when he makes his way through the crowd onto the balcony.

“My mother might have left me something.”

“Yeah, so . . . what? Is it like, money?”

He rolls his eyes. “Probably. I’m trying to figure it out.”

“So it’s not money.”

“I don’t know, Malia,” he sighs. “If I wanna figure it out, I have to play this little game she set up and cross the country.”

“Where?”

“Texas,” he groans. “I mean, really. That’s just . . .”

“Eugh, I know.”

He nods. “You know what, I’m not going. Screw her.”

“Well,” she hesitates. “You must be a _little_ curious, right?”

He shrugs.

“What if it’s like, gold or something?”

This is probably a good time to mention that Malia is kind of shallow and like most people he associates with only ever has eye for money. At least she looks good in a dress. Those legs . . .

“No,” he shakes his head. “She didn’t give a crap about me. I should just ignore her, seriously. Besides, I’ve got a trust fund. Well, I think.” He purses his lips in thought. “I don’t need her money.”

“Okay, but you can always use some extra money. You never know what might happen. I mean my gosh, what if you actually have to get a job sometime.” She shudders at the thought.

And Stiles’ face is wide-eyed and panicked in abject horror.  


Bewaren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew ... so that was the first chapter ^_^  
> This story isn't and probably won't be beta'd, so if you have any feedback for me, please let me know! I love you all and I will see you soon <3
> 
> UPDATE: if you got an allert or noticed some other way that it looks like I updated chapter 1 again today, the reason for this is that the cover art I made kept disappearing on me, so that's what I fixed. Don't know if other people had the same problem, but it annoyed me, so there you go.


	2. The Gift of Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~ Stiles must learn to work for his money ~

  


And a BONUS picture with family photos:

 

**July**

 

Stiles haphazardly parks his motorcycle right in front of the entrance to the airport building. The police will take care of it (they’ve been trying to get him to pull over and give him a speeding ticket for the past twenty minutes).

He called Deaton last night to tell him he’ll go to freaking Texas. When Stiles asked him for how long he’ll be there, the man went right back into mystery-mode and told him he’ll find out soon enough. Then he had asked him what to pack in his suitcase and Deaton told him he could only bring a gym bag. ‘They’ would provide for the rest when he arrived in Texas.

He doesn’t waste time entering the building and is met with the sight of Morrell in the lobby, raising a judgmental eyebrow as she glances between him and the officers outside.

“Police escort,” he shrugs.

She hands him his plane ticket without another word and Stiles is off again.

He’s lounging in his first class seat before he knows it, settling in for the flight when one of the flight attendants asks for his attention.

“Excuse me sir, can I see your boarding pass again?”

Stiles hands him the piece of paper with a displeased frown.

“Yeah,” the man breathes, “See, this is for coach.”

He snorts. “Yeah, that’s not possible.”

“No,” the man says, looking at the thing again, “it’s for 32B.”

Stiles scowls. “Then change it.”

“I’m afraid that’s not an option . . . sir.”

“Do you have any idea who I am?” he inquires, mentally damning the man to hell.

“Oh, I know exactly who you are,” the man nods with a cold smile. “You’re the guy in 32B.”

 

. . .

 

Yep, he’s flying coach.

But well, if you ignore the obnoxious puking noises, the baby crying everybody’s ears off and the guy who passed out on his shoulder, then . . .

No, nope, he still hates it.

 

* * *

 

When he’s arrived at Houston Airport, he gets a call from Morrell.

“Hello Stiles. Did you have a nice flight?”

He bites back a growl. “Terrific.”

He can’t hear it, but he’s convinced that the woman is laughing at him. Before he gets the chance to call her out on it, she says:

“Alright, here’s what’s going to happen. A man will come and pick you up soon, then bring you to their farm. He’ll explain what you’ll have to do for the first gift. When you’re done, Deaton will contact you.”

“Right,” he sighs. “Sounds great.”

Morrell wishes him good luck and hangs up, leaving him to his own resources. He looks around for any sign of the guy who’s supposed to pick him up. Not that he has any idea what he looks like, but maybe he’ll give him a clue with a piece of paper with his name on it or something. He gives up after scanning his surroundings twice.

Then, out of complete freaking _nowhere,_ a guy who looks to be in his late fifties takes his gym bag right from Stiles’ shoulder and calmly walks with it to his pickup truck (because of course he drives one).

“Dude!” Stiles yells after him, frozen in astonishment.

The man throws his bag in the car and turns back to him, rolling his eyes like he can’t believe what he’s dealing with.

“Ray Hale,” the man introduces himself. “I’m your ride.”

Then he gets into the car and Stiles scrambles to move and flings himself into the passenger seat. Ray looks him over with judgement in his eyes.

“What?” Stiles scowls.

Ray laughs. “You look like you haven’t worked a day in your life.”

“Well, I guess some of us are just that lucky.”

The man just laughs again, clearly amused. “Oh, kid. I almost feel sorry for you.”

Stiles opts to stay silent from then. ‘Opts’ being the operative word, because the drive seems to be taking fucking _hours_. He can be a stubborn ass when he wants to be, but even he has his limits.

“Can you stop at the next convenience store or something?”

Ray chuckles and Stiles huffs out a breath. “Now what’s funny?”

“The last convenience store was like fifty miles back. In fact, we’ve been on my property for the last thirty minutes or so.”  
  
Awesome.

The man shakes his head and turns up the volume off the radio, whiny country music filling his ears as Ray starts to whistle along. He wants to _die_. Of course that’s not an option, so he decides to sleep for the rest of the ride.

He wakes up when they’ve reached the main house on the man’s property and Ray shakes his shoulder lightly. “Wake up kid. It’s time for you to meet the family.” He gets out of the car without another word, but Stiles has a feeling the man’s not done talking yet so he is quick to follow suit.

“Now since you’re Claudia’s son you can stay with us in the family home. It’s probably not what you’re used to, but you’ll have to learn how to live with it because it’s all you’re getting. Dinner’s in an hour, breakfast’s at five.”

He blinks.

“Uh, Ray?” he asks. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Don’t think so.”

“The gift?”

Ray bursts out laughing and turns around, walking to the house without a backwards glance.

He takes another look at the house and sighs. _So this is what Hell looks like_ . . .

The first thing Ray shows him in the house is his new bedroom, which is located in the attic, along with one other guest room. He leaves him to his own devices to get settled for a bit, telling him he’ll meet the rest of the family at dinner.

Of course he checks his cell phone the minute Ray is gone, desperate for social contact with, you know, normal people. That is when he finds out there’s absolutely zero reception in this room and he prays to God that it’s only this room and not like, the whole house. Or worse, the whole damn _property_.

Like he said, it’s Hell.

Ray calls him down for dinner before he knows it and Stiles wanders downstairs and into the kitchen. Now, what Stiles was expecting when Ray mentioned meeting the family, was a wife and an already adult kid or something. What he walks into however, is a full kitchen table (which means seven people, plus an empty seat for him).

“Stiles,” Ray starts from where he’s standing behind a middle aged woman with dark hair and freckles. “This is my wife, Talia.”

Talia smiles at him. “Nice to meet you, Stiles.”

He nods and lets Ray continue, this time making hand-gestures as he introduces the rest of his family.

“These are my kids, Trevor, Laura and Cora. I have another son, Derek, but he and his daughter are in the city for a while.” Stiles can’t help but notice how strained the words sound, but Ray continues before he can point it out. “They’ll be back one of these days. Anyway, this here is Austin, Laura’s husband and the father of this little guy here, Kaine.”

“Nice to meet you all, I guess,” Stiles says, still a little overwhelmed.

He takes the empty seat between Trevor and Cora and waits for his plate to be filled. Unlike family dinners at home, it isn’t a quiet affair. The table immediately flows with conversation, leaving him wondering whether he should be thankful or insulted or hell, even jealous. Even though that’s something he’ll never admit to.

“So is it true that you have a bet with your dead mom?” the little kid asks him halfway through dinner. He can’t be more than six years old.

“Kaine,” Austin scolds him, while Laura just facepalms. “Apologize to Stiles, please?”

The kid mumbles an apology, but Stiles shakes his head. “No, it’s okay. You were right. I do have a bet with my dead mother.”

Kaine’s eyes grow wide in interest. “What do you get if you win?”

He frowns and sends a quick glare in Ray’s direction. “I don’t know.”

The little guy shrugs. “ ‘Kay.”

“So you just finished high school, right?” Ray asked with a knowing grin. “What do you wanna do next?”

Stiles bites his tongue to refrain from swearing at the guy. Then takes a deep, steadying breath.

“Don’t know that either.”

Cora snorts beside him. “You don’t know much, do you?”

_Deep. Breaths._

“Who wants dessert?” Talia asks, sufficiently breaking the tension.

“Me!” both Kaine and Trevor shout out, causing Stiles to chuckle. He can already tell that although Trevor is the oldest of his siblings, he’s one of those men that always stay a kid at heart.

After dinner, he goes back to his room, deciding to just go to bed already since there’s not much else he can do. He slips out of his clothes and into the bed in only his boxers, fluffing up the pillow before lying down.

For the second time that day, he falls asleep to whiny country music.

 

* * *

 

Stiles wakes up the next morning when the door to his new room opens and Ray walks inside.

“Up and at ‘m, city boy. You missed breakfast,” Ray notifies him with a pointed glance towards the old alarm clock on his bedside table.

It’s only twenty minutes past five.

Freaking _five_. (In the morning yes, that one).

“Didn’t you set an alarm?” Ray inquires.

Stiles groans and rolls back in his burrito of blankets. “Five more minutes.”

The man leaves him for about five seconds (not that he’s counting) and when he comes back he tugs the blankets aside, then pokes him with something causing a sharp, electrical shock to run through his ass. He yelps and shoots out of bed.

“Morning,” Ray grins.

“WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM?!”

He really shouldn’t be surprised when the man just laughs and heads back downstairs.

Fifteen minutes later, Stiles saunters downstairs and scowls at Ray, who’s waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. Since he apparently missed breakfast, the man simply hands him a meagre sandwich (no doubt one of the leftovers) and turns towards the front door to make his way outside.

“Gotta get to work,” he states. “Sun will be up soon.”

He follows Ray to the car in silence, not sure if he’s surprised to find Trevor and Austin already there. They drive off as soon as they’re all seated. Ray tells him about their property, about the things they cultivate and sell on the local farmer’s market every month.

Besides growing vegetables, they also have a fruit orchard, which Stiles is slightly more interested in. At least that looks pretty. Then, of course there’s the couple of cows they own and use for milk and stuff. And lastly they own a bunch of horses, who they mostly use for breeding purposes.

The women in the family tend to the orchard and Stiles slumps in his seat when he realizes that means he won’t be working there, but doing the tougher labour with the men. Aside from the family members, Ray hired immigrants and a few other people to help with all the work on the farm.

Eventually they stop at a pretty much open field, the area all but completely deserted. Ray steps out of the car and motions for Stiles to follow him, but the two other men remain in the car.

“Alright, watch and learn,” the man says, showing Stiles how to set a fence post. “Eight feet from the centre from there.”

“What?”

“Someone will bring you lunch when it’s time, you just do what I just did and try to make a straight line.”

“When do I know when I’m finished?”

Ray walks to his side, pointing his finger straight ahead at the horizon. “The last post is already standing at the end. You’ll know.”

Stiles’ mouth falls open as he looks from Ray to the horizon and back to Ray again. “That’ll take _weeks_!”

The man pats him on the back a few times and smiles. “Better start working then.”

Then he gets back inside the car and drives off to do his own job for the day, leaving Stiles standing there on his own in the middle of nowhere. And no, okay? Just no. Screw him. It’s bad enough that the guy made him ware plaid (his own clothes apparently weren’t adequate to work in), he is _not_ going to do this stupid job.

He lies back against the neatly stacked pile of wooden posts and settles in for some more well deserved hours of sleep.

True to Ray’s words, at around eleven Trevor shows up with a cooler with lunch, startling him awake. Stiles glowers at him.

Apparently Trevor takes after his father, because he just shakes his head at him and chuckles. “I’m not even surprised.”

He leaves again without another word.

Eventually it’s late enough that he gets to go back to the farm, eating another dinner with the family before shutting himself in his room.

The next morning, Ray pokes him out of bed again at the ass-crack of dawn (also he missed breakfast again) and takes him on another trip with the car, only to drop him off at the exact same spot as the day before. Stiles groans. It’s only because he doesn’t want to spend another day sleeping or wasting time that he puts on the gloves and picks up the post hole digger. It looks like there’s no way around it.

He has to work.

The sun has been up and shining for hours when Ray pays him a visit. Stiles has made a beginning to the fence, seven posts already standing and connected with utility wire. He’s kind of proud of himself.

“What do you think?” he asks when Ray inspects his handy work.

Ray shakes one of the posts a bit, then shakes his head. As if he’s disappointed in him. And fine, maybe the posts aren’t that stable and maybe the fence won’t be perfectly straight, but you know. At least he did _something_ this time.

It appears Ray disagrees, because he wraps a line of rope around a post somewhere in the middle, then attaches the other end of the rope to his car, gets in said car and drives off, the posts he’s been working on all fucking day falling over and dragging behind the car.

“Whoa, hey!” he yells, throwing his hands in the air. “Oh, come on man!”

 

* * *

 

After dinner that night, he gets out of the house and to the backyard, climbing onto the tire swing and calling Malia (turns out there _is_ reception out here, thank God).

“Hey cowboy,” she greets him when she picks up.

“Very funny,” he grumbles. “Hello to you, too.”

“So did you figure out what you get yet?”

He sighs. “It’s complicated, but it involves land, building materials and slave labour.”

“They’re giving you a shopping mall?”

He has mentioned she’s not the brightest person in his social circle, right? He chuckles.

“Yeah, not exactly. But whatever it is, I gotta survive this crazy cowboy family until the man decides to give it to me, or when I get back or . . .”

And that’s when it hits him.

“. . . or when I’m finished.”

“Finished with what?” Malia inquires.

“You know what, I’ll talk to you later.” He hangs up without waiting for her response. This must be it. This must be what Ray wants him to do. Or what his mother wants him to do, whatever.

They want him to work? He’ll work. He’ll deliver the best goddamn work Ray has ever seen. So help him God that fence will be fucking perfect. He hops off the swing and makes his way back into the house, calling it a night.

The next morning, Stiles is eating his breakfast at the kitchen table before Ray gets another chance to rudely awaken him. The man shares a look with Trevor, who’s sitting beside him, before taking his own seat. Trevor just shrugs. Stiles grins. He’ll show them.

When Ray drops him off at the field, he immediately goes to work. That post hole digger is going to be his new best friend. This time when he places the posts, he makes sure they are stable and upright. Every single one of them needs to be perfect.

He works like that, day in day out, bringing all he’s got and not wasting a second of time lazing around. He works until he’s crossed that damn field. He works until he has reached that horizon. He works until a whole month has gone by.

He has about five more posts to set when Ray drives up and gets out of the car.

“Let’s go,” he says.

Stiles shakes his head. “I’m not done.”

“Work’s never done on a farm,” Ray comments. “Come on, kid.”

When they get back to the house, Ray doesn’t get out of the car immediately, instead turning towards Stiles.

“You know if you do any job like you just did . . . you can do anything.”

“Thanks,” Stiles says, following Ray out of the car. “Now aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Don’t think so.”

Stiles flails. “The gift. I came here for a gift, remember?”

Just like he seems to do every time when he’s around Stiles, Ray burst out in slow laughter. It’s infuriating.

What’s even more infuriating however, is finding Mr Deaton sitting at the kitchen table inside the house with a broad smile on his face.

“That was the gift?” Stiles scowls after Deaton’s explanation. “I do manual labour for a _month_ and you’re trying to tell me it was a favour? To me?”

“The Gift of Work,” Deaton smirks.

“Wow.”

Deaton congratulates him and Stiles shakes his head. He’s so done with this.

“Look dude, just tell me what my inheritance is. I’m over this.”

Deaton doesn’t say anything, just nods and leaves for the door.

“Where are you going?” Stiles calls after him, but the man – as usual – ignores him. So he goes after him himself. “Mr Deaton, sir, please. I . . . I think it’s only fair that I know the amount of money that we’re dealing with here, don’t you? I mean I’ve been here for a whole month. Just . . . tell me what I have to do.”

“Your mother said a series of gifts,” Deaton says. “But let me add a personal note. I completely agree with you that this is a waste of time. But that doesn’t matter, because you are going to fail. I expect you to fail and fail miserably.”

Stiles had turned around as soon as the word ‘fail’ left the asshole’s mouth, but the man isn’t finished.

“Now if you do want to continue, make an appointment with Ms Morrell.”

“Wait.” He turns around then. “Fine. I’ve been acting like a dick about this whole thing and for that I’m sorry. And you know, now I can see exactly what you and my mother have in store for me and I think it’s exceedingly beneficial.” He sighs. “So what’s the next gift?”

He looks him up and down once and nods. “You’ll know.”

 

Bewaren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still not beta'd, so as always feedback is welcome. Comments and kudos keep me going!
> 
> Also when I tagged slow build, I really meant SLOW build for sterek. Derek isn't even at the farm yet . . . but he has his reasons ^^


	3. The Gift of Money

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~ Stiles must learn to handle his money wisely ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! So sorry this took so long, but I'm in the middle of my exams (heh, look at me procrastinating), plus I decided to make art for every chapter of this fic, so if you haven't seen the art for chapter 2 yet and you're interested, go check it out! Obviously I'm not that good at this whole manip art stuff yet, but I like playing with it and practice makes perfect, right?
> 
> Anyway, thanks for your patience and as always, enjoy reading!

 

**August**

 

It’s the first day that he doesn’t have to be up at five to work. Of course he’s still welcome to help them out on the farm, but Stiles passes on that and decides to stay home with Kaine today. He’s still waiting for instructions for the second ‘gift’ anyway.

So instead of working, he’s babysitting. It’s not too bad. He has always liked kids, probably because they don’t fight about money yet. They’re . . . innocent. He’s not sure what the kid does in his free time, though.

“You have any videogames?” he asks.

The little guy nods enthusiastically. “Yes!”

“So, do you have like an Xbox or something?”

“No,” the kid frowns, confused. “I have a Nintendo GameCube! Ooh, you wanna play Mario Kart?”

Now, Stiles had a GameCube once. And the game everybody had on that thing was Mario Kart Double Dash. Till this day, Stiles still believes that is the best one in the series and no one can tell him otherwise. He still misses the ‘Daisy cruiser’ in the newer ones.

“Are we talking Double Dash?” Stiles inquires slowly.

Kaine’s winning smile is answer enough. He follows the kid to his room and takes a seat on the bed, taking one of the controllers and waiting for the game to start up. He plays with Toad and Baby Luigi, Kaine with Daisy and Koopa. Stiles whistles low between his teeth.

“The princess, huh?”

Kaine shrugs. “She’s pretty.”

He’s baffled when he manages to lose from a five year old kid more than once, even though Stiles wins most of the races. Kaine doesn’t seem to care either way, happy to play his game with someone else.

The women come home in the early afternoon and they have lunch together in the backyard, the sun and light breeze making it a nice day to be outside. Kaine makes him play with him in the backyard when the women go back to work in the orchard, showing him the pond.

“You wanna catch frogs? I can show you how, it’s easy!”

Stiles scrunches up his nose.

“No thanks, dude.”

The kid shrugs and catches one for himself anyway, showing it proudly to Stiles, holding the thing between his little hands.

“Yeah no, that’s still gross.”

Kaine shakes his head laughing (apparently it’s a family trait or something to laugh at Stiles’ reactions).

“No silly, it’s cool! Only girls think it’s gross.”

“Are you calling me a girl, little man?”

Kaine giggles. “No . . .”

“LIAR!” Stiles exclaims dramatically, tickling the guy into a laughing fit.

After that Kaine makes him watch a Disney movie with him called ‘Tangled’, it’s surprisingly entertaining. He scowls all through the song ‘Mother knows best’, though. If he has to listen to that song one more time, he’ll kill something.

Then they’re being called for dinner and Stiles realizes that another day has gone by without him doing much. He confronts Ray about it when they’re done eating.

“So what am I supposed to do now?” he asks. “I feel like you know what Deaton’s up to.”

The man gets this knowing little grin on his face, confirming Stiles’ suspicions.

“Sorry kid, can’t tell you. I can tell you that Deaton will be in contact with you soon, though. Then he’ll explain the next gift. Until then,” he shrugs, “my mouth is keeping shut.”

“Perfect,” he sighs.

He retreats to his room, flopping down on the bed and playing around on his phone for a bit. That’s when he receives the text from Deaton with a video file attached to it. He opens it cautiously and he stops breathing for a second.

He immediately recognizes the family estate back in Beacon Hills and frowns when the person behind the camera walks to his suite. The person opens the door and reveals what’s behind it. It’s his suite alright, but it’s utterly and completely empty. He gasps. No furniture, no clothes, no electronics. _Everything_ is gone.

A strangled whine escapes his throat when the video skips to a scene of the garage, zooming in on his car and beside it, his precious motorcycle. He watches in horror and fury as both his vehicles are being towed away, probably to be sold to someone else.

 _My poor babies_.

He wants to cry. And maybe murder something after all. Maybe both. Of course, it’s barely a minute later when the devil himself (Mr Deaton) calls him.

“YOU MOTHERFUCKING ASSHOLE!” he screams hysterically. “What did you do to my stuff?!”

Deaton has the nerve to laugh. “It’s all part of your mother’s plan, Stiles.”

“Screw the plan!” he yells. “Why the fuck would she do this to me?!”

There’s a knock on his door, then Ray comes in sporting a huge grin on his face. In his hand, he holds another sealed envelope.

Stiles groans. “I _hate_ my life!”

“Just read your mother’s letter, Stiles,” Deaton tells him in that infuriatingly calm voice of his. “It will clear everything up.”

He scowls and promptly ends the call.

“Give me the damn letter,” he grumbles at Ray.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Ray asks.

Stiles shakes his head, raising his eyebrows. Ray raises one unimpressed eyebrow back, waiting.

“. . . Please?” Stiles tries.

Ray nods. “Now that’s more like it.”

He finally hands him the envelope and leaves the room to let Stiles open it in peace. He breaks the seal and takes his mother’s second letter out of it. You’re probably expecting the letter to start with something like ‘My dear son’ or something, but that’s not his mother’s style. No, she gets right to the point:

 

_Ah, how I wish I could see your face right now. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mean to be cruel or anything, but . . . I imagine it’s quite entertaining, is all._

_Anyway, let’s talk about your next gift. Someone once said that you can’t begin to live until you’ve lost everything. And I definitely know what it feels like to lose everything, it’s happened to me three or four times, but it’s the perfect place to start._

_Now, I know I wasn’t there, but I’m pretty sure that for all your teenaged life you’ve been the star of every party, one of those posh ladies men, throwing with money like it grows on trees. No doubt people have used you for your money, too. Well, technically it’s my money, but let’s forget about semantics._

Stiles takes a moment to roll his eyes. Even though it’s admittedly quite creepy that her expectations of him are so spot-on. Or maybe he’s just predictable. That thought makes him scowl and he continues reading.

 

_Now, I think it’d be interesting to see who your real friends are. You’re probably wondering what exactly I’m asking you to do here. Well, here it comes:_

_I am going to give you a month to find one true friend. One you haven’t bought with money, but someone who accepts you for who_ you _are._

_Like last time, Deaton will determine if you have succeeded at the end of the month.  
_

_~ Your mother_

Is it childish of him that he has the urge to rip the letter to shreds? Because he’s feeling it. Damn her. Then again, one true friend. How hard can that possibly be?

His lungs constrict painfully when it dawns on him that without his suite and vehicles, he’s pretty much homeless now. Technically he could still go back home, but he has a feeling that’s against his mother’s rules.

Well, he’ll just have to get creative, then.

He leaves his room for a second and wanders downstairs to get better reception. It’s a miracle Deaton’s text from earlier even got through. He sits down on the bottom step of the stairs and opens a new text message.

 

**To: Malia**

**How do you feel about a weekend with me in Texas?**

As usual with her, he doesn’t have to wait long for a reply.

 

**From: Malia**

**I’ll see you Friday, cowboy**

Stiles grins. That’s settled then. A little sweet talking and he will have both his one true friend and a roof above his head before the end of the week.

 

* * *

 

 

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you,” Stiles says when he picks Malia up from the airport, enveloping her in a hug.

He had asked Ray nicely if he could borrow his car for this occasion and to Stiles’ surprise, the man had just shrugged and handed him the keys.

“Oh, I can imagine,” she says when they let go of each other. “It must be so awful for you to have to live with people so far below your social status.”

He shrugs. “They aren’t that bad, I guess. Our priorities just . . . differ, a lot.”

“Well,” she hums. “At least it must be refreshing to spend some time with one of your own people for a change.”

Stiles chuckles. “Now that is definitely true.”

“So where are you taking me?”

“I was thinking 5 star restaurant first?”

“Perfect.”

It’s about two hours later and they’re sitting at a table at the most expensive restaurant in town, enjoying their wine and just finishing their meals. It’s the perfect time for him to start ‘the talk’ with Malia.

“Malia,” he asks, “where do you see our relationship?”

She sends him a coy smile. “What are you asking me Stiles Stilinski?”

“Just thinking,” he shrugs. “How long have we been doing this thing between us?”

“Ah, you know,” Malia muses. “I can’t even remember when we started this thing. Long enough.”

“See, my thoughts exactly. I was thinking that maybe it’s time to take us . . . more seriously.”

“Yes?” she asks, smiling wide.

He nods. “There’s something I wanna ask you first, though. See, I was thinking – ”

He’s interrupted by the waiter stopping by with the check and he hands the man his card, after which he disappears again.

“As I was saying, I’ve been thinking. Since we’ve known each other for so long, I figure it’s about time we get to know each other in a more . . . serious way. I – ,”

Again, he’s interrupted by the waiter. He scowls at the man, who clears his throat awkwardly.

“Excuse me sir, but your charge card company declined the charge.”

“That’s impossible, I don’t have a credit limit,” he comments. “Just run it through again.”

He’s about to turn back to Malia, but the waiter stops him again. “It’s always our practice to run it through again. But they declined.”

He sighs heavily and grabs his wallet, handing a different card to the man and sending him on his way again.

“So I was thinking,” he says to Malia, “maybe I should move in with you. I mean you already have your own apartment, right? We’d be the perfect roomies.”

She frowns. “You move in with me? Why, I thought you wanted to go to college?”

“That’s been postponed.”

Before Malia has the chance to ask more stupid questions he can’t answer, the waiter is back, this time with the manager in tow.

“I’m sorry sir,” the woman starts, “but we spoke to your bank and they say that all of your accounts have been frozen.”

He scowls. “Fro – ”

He stops himself mid-sentence when realization sinks in, his mother’s words coming back to him. ‘Until you’ve lost everything’. God fucking DAMNIT!

He clears his throat, trying to conceal his anger (and desperation).

“Yeah, so the whole family is in the process of switching accounts and stuff, so . . .,” he explains to Malia. "Is there any way you could pay for this?”

She gasps, looking at him like he just crushed her heart or something.

“Stiles you’re, ah . . . you’re asking me to pay the bill?” she breathes.

He nods and she shakes her head, tears forming in her eyes. Then she stands up and rushes out of the restaurant, leaving him behind with a ridiculously high bill and zero money. The bitch.

He slumps back against his seat, burying his head in his hands as he groans. The manager lady clears her throat beside the table.

“So how are you planning on paying for this?”

 

. . .

 

Yes, he’s working again. Dishes this time. It’s every bit as humiliating as you would expect it to be. He thought he could do this thing, that he could play this stupid game with his mother, but this sucks. He is so completely done with this shit.

 

* * *

 

When the restaurant finally lets him go, he calls his so-called ‘friends’ to ask for any favours (yes he’s talking about money). Not a single one of them, however, is willing to help him out. It doesn’t matter if he mentions they owe him or whatever, they just tell him to fuck off.

It’s starting to look like his mother was right. Again.

With a sigh, he calls his dad. He’s not even really sure what he’s calling him for, but . . . well, he’s desperate here.

“Stiles?” his father asks in lieu of an hello.

“Yo Dad.”

“How are you doing, kiddo?”

He scoffs. “Are you sure you want to ask me that?”

His father sighs. “I am sorry, Stiles, but I promised your mom – ”

“Yeah yeah, I get it, I do,” he mutters, “It’s just . . . I’m starting to think she hated me or something.”

“She didn’t hate you son, come on.”

He shrugs. “Yeah well, that sure is what it feels like.”

“Look son, just do what she asks of you? This may not be helping much, but . . . I believe in you. You can do this.”

“Thanks Dad.”

He tells the man goodbye and hangs up. It’s pretty late, so he decides to drive back to the Hale Farm.

The sight of his room when he gets back is what does is. It’s the final straw. All of his stuff he brought from home – which wasn’t much to begin with, mostly some clothes, but still – is gone, just like at his suite back in Beacon Hills. Which means that the only things he has left are his wallet with his ID, driver’s licence and a bunch of plastic with frozen money, and his phone.

He runs back downstairs, demanding an explanation from Ray, who simply shrugs.

“I’m sorry kid, but those were my instructions.” He sighs. “Look Stiles, I know you think it’s the end of the world right now, but it’s honestly not so bad – ”

“NOT SO BAD?! Stiles splutters, enraged.

He storms out of the house, unable to deal with this anymore. He literally has _nothing_ left. And there’s not a single soul who is prepared to help him or be on his side in this stupid game. It’s . . . he doesn’t even have words for it. It just sucks.

He walks along the dirt path leading away from the Hales, determined to walk to the next village (on the other side of the property, so it won’t take hours like it did when Ray first picked him up from Houston Airport).

The walk is still much longer than he anticipated though and after 45 minutes or so of walking, a car shows up and idles beside him. A quick look tells him that Trevor is the one behind the wheel. He stops when the man lowers his window and calls his name.

“You want a ride?”

Stiles gives in after a moment of consideration and lets Trevor drive him. He gets out when they reach the border of town.

“So where do you plan on sleeping tonight?” Trevor asks.

He shrugs. “Under a bridge, I guess . . . after all, my mother wants to teach me the important lesson of being a hobo.”

“Kid . . .,” Trevor hesitates. “Are you sure?”

He sighs again. “Yeah. Thanks for the ride.”

He turns away from Trevor and the car and starts walking.

 

Bewaren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, not to spoil anything, but *cups your ear and whispers* Derek will be here next chapter ^^


	4. The Gift of Problems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~ Stiles must learn to face and solve problems on his own ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so happy with the response the last chapter got, that this chapter practically wrote itself. The fact that Derek is finally making an appearance also might have helped ^^
> 
> Happy reading!

  


 

**August**

 

Stiles spends his first night as a hobo sleeping on a porch swing on the front porch of a random house in town. He’s rudely awakened in the early hours of the morning when the old lady who apparently lives there pokes him awake with her walking-cane, then proceeds to beat him with it until he flails and runs off the porch and off her lawn.

He sticks his hands in the pockets of his jacket and walks until he reaches a nice, peaceful park. There’s a couple benches standing in a neat row and he sits down on one of them, wondering what the hell he’s going to do now.

He’s pretty sure Ray would let him come back to the farm, but he’s still too pissed at him to consider that option. He just can’t deal with those people right now. Besides, the weather is nice, so it’s not like it’s a burden to spend his time outside.

A middle aged man – and by the looks of him a fellow hobo – saunters up to him, looking between him and the other benches with anxiety written across his face.

“Hey man, you uhm . . . you’re on my bench.”

Stiles looks up, briefly making eye contact with the man before he turns his head slowly and lets his eyes wander over the three other available benches. He looks back at the man.

“Get out of here,” he responds with a sigh, crossing his arms and closing his eyes as he leans back against the bench, enjoying the warm morning sun on his face.

“A simple ‘no’ would have sufficed,” the man comments.

He shrugs, opening his eyes again. “Fine. No.”

“No, what?”

“No, you cannot sit on this bench. This is not your bench, this is a city bench. Go sit on another bench.”

“Yes it is and I’ve got just as much right to it as anybody. It’s a free country, you know.”

Stiles chuckles without humor. “See that’s where you’re wrong. Name one thing in this country that’s for free. We need money for everything, without money you’re nothing!” He waves a hand at the man’s body.

“I mean look at you. No money, no food, no family, no friends. Nothing.” He straightens up. “Besides, I’m sitting on this bench now. This is my bench, okay?”

He settles back against the wood, expecting the man to scram, but he doesn’t. He merely paces in front of the bench for half a minute before turning back to Stiles with determination.

“I’ll flip you for it.”

Stiles sighs longsuffering. “Fine.”

Both of them empty their pockets in search for a coin, but neither one of them comes up with anything.

“I have a quarter,” a little girl he’s never seen before pipes up, suddenly standing next to them and holding up the coin in offer.

The man takes it from her with a small thanks.

Then he runs.

Stiles watches the little girl for a moment. She doesn’t look much older than eight, with her brown curly hair and cute little dimples. He ponders if he should go after the guy to get her quarter back or run and pretend this never even happened. He turns around to do either, but instead collides with a wall of muscle. He flails and ends up bracing himself against the firm chest, slowly looking up into the man’s face.

To his surprise, he isn’t met by an angry face. It’s a good face – chiselled, yet gentle – with an artful stubble and thin lips curved into a small smile. The man puts his hands on Stiles’ forearms to hold him steady and the warmth coming off them is extremely nice.

All the while, the man’s eyes (which are a sea of greens and blues and browns and what even _is_ that colour?) hold him captive . . . until the little girl pointedly clears her throat to get their attention.

“I know who you are, you know,” she tells him, looking him up and down. “You must really be having a bad life.”

He’s too busy scowling to ask her how the hell she knows who he is.

The man (and wow, he’d almost forgotten about him) chuckles awkwardly and lets go of Stiles’ arms, taking the girl’s – probably his daughter’s – hand instead.

“Come on Kenny, let’s go.”

The girl – Kenny, apparently – shakes her head once. “I am just having a pleasant conversation with this gentleman.”

“Yes, I know, but I also know that you remember what I said about talking to strangers.”

“Stiles.”

The word has left his mouth before he even realizes it and he has literally _no idea_ why in the world he would mention his name to these people.

“What?” the man asks, turning back towards him with a frown.

“My name. It’s Stiles.”

“Oh.” The man looks thoughtful for a minute, then he says: “Derek.”

Stiles smiles. “Nice to meet you, Derek.”

Derek nods, then he and his daughter walk away. He follows them with his eyes until he can’t see them anymore.

His stomach rumbles and Stiles takes a moment to freak out. What the hell is he going to eat if he doesn’t have money to buy some food? He highly doubts people will just give him something to eat if he asks nicely.

So what, then? Is there a special hobo place he can go to for food and stuff? Those places are a thing, right? Then again he has no idea where to start looking for a place like this, if it even exists in the first place. Or maybe he can like . . . steal something? He’s not sure if he really wants to stoop so low, but he’s hungry, okay? And apparently hunger and desperation aren’t a good combination, moralistically speaking.

After walking about the relatively small village for a while, he eventually ends up at the local homeless shelter. They serve him some lunch, or breakfast, since it’s actually his first meal of the day, and he walks around inside the building for a bit.

There’s this kind of dormitory, filled with a row of beds on both the wall to his left and to his right. He asks the lady in the front if he could sleep there tonight, but she gives him a sympathetic smile and shakes her head, telling him they won’t have any place for him tonight. If he comes back tomorrow, though, she can try to save him a bed.

He thanks her and exits the building, sauntering through the village some more. It’s a nice village, he has to admit. There’s no big buildings like there are at home, aside from the mandatory city hall and hospital. He imagines it’s the kind of community where most people at least know each other by face. It’s small enough to recognize the locals, yet big enough people don’t know everything about everyone.

At dinnertime, he goes back to the homeless shelter for another round of food, glad he doesn’t have to go to sleep on an empty stomach, even though the portions they serve at the shelter are meagre at best. He’ll be very hungry in the morning, no doubt, but it’s better than nothing.

That night, back on the bench, he wraps himself into the picnic blanket someone left behind and lies down, looking at the sea of stars above him with a sigh.  
  
He lets his mind wander and isn’t sure if he’s surprised when his thoughts drift to that morning. He thinks back on meeting Derek, how his hands had felt on his arms, so strong and warm. It had felt . . . nice. And those _eyes._ What was up with that? It had felt as though he were hypnotized by them.

Derek . . . intrigues him, that’s for sure. Yet he doesn’t think he’s gay, or bisexual in his case. He has never looked at a guy like he looked at Derek today. Has never had such a strong reaction to a simple touch from a man. Then again, he’s never really had such a strong reaction with a woman either. Sure, there were hook-ups and uncountable one-nightstands, but never anything serious. The thought is unsettling and he shakes it off.

Or well, he tries to. As soon as he closes his eyes, however, the image of Derek floats right back into his traitorous brain. He sees those strong arms and wonders what it would feel like to be held by them. He sees those beautiful, thick strands of hair and wonders how it would feel to let his fingers slide through them. He sees those pink lips and wonders what it would be like to kiss them . . .

He groans and looks back at the stars.

This is seriously getting out of hand. How is it that the guy has such a strong effect on him after just one short meeting, anyway?

Whatever. It’s not like he will see Derek, or Kenny for that matter, again. He’ll just have to ignore these . . . feelings (there really is no other word for it, he realizes with a start) and find a way to fall asleep. He closes his eyes again with a short sigh. Yes, letting it go is the best solution for everyone involved.

To his surprise, he wakes up late in the morning this time, the park already busy with people taking a walk with their dog or simply enjoying the weather. He moves into a sitting position, dragging his hands across his face with a jaw-cracking yawn.

“Sleep well?” A sing-song voice pipes up from beside him. He removes his hands from his face and finds Kenny occupying the space beside him on the bench, smiling at him. He can’t help but smile back at her (she’s annoyingly adorable), but then he realizes that her being here probably means that Derek is close by as well and he groans.

“You look hungry,” she comments.

Stiles scowls. “No I don’t.”

Then – of fucking course – his stomach rumbles loudly, betraying him and she arches one mocking eyebrow at him.

“Fine,” he relents. “I’m starving, okay? What are you gonna do about it?”

“Taking you to lunch with us,” Derek’s voice appears from behind him.

Stiles’ head whips around so fast he’s pretty sure he can hear vertebrae crack. His heart is pounding in his chest and Stiles writes it off on him being startled, that’s all. His heart did most definitely _not_ start pounding like crazy just from Derek’s goddamn voice.

“H – Hey, Derek,” he says, rubbing a hand over his neck.

The older man just raises an eyebrow at him, waiting and making Stiles feel kind of awkward, to be honest.

“What?”

“Lunch,” he repeats. “You wanna come?”

“Oh,” Stiles breathes. “For real?”

“Sure,” Derek shrugs.

“Awesome!”

He follows them out of the park and across the street, where they enter a nice and cosy diner, sitting down in a booth at a window in the back. They don’t have to wait long for their waitress to arrive, asking for their orders with a coy smile he has seen on many girls before. This time though, it isn’t directed at him. No, it’s directed at _Derek_.

Stiles tells himself he’s totally indifferent about it.

The waitress leaves soon enough and he turns towards the little girl, too afraid he’ll put his foot in his mouth to talk to Derek.

“So, your name’s Kenny, right? Pretty cool name.”

She nods. “It’s Mackenzie, actually, but that’s too much of a mouthful so I decided to shorten it,” she states with a quick grin in her dad’s direction. “So what does ‘Stiles’ come from?”

“Ha, I don’t think so,” he huffs out a laugh. “That’s a secret I’ll take to my grave.”

“Spoilsport,” she mutters playfully.

“So you guys live in the neighbourhood?”

Kenny nods. “We have an apartment. But we also live in the family home sometimes.”

He wants to ask her to elaborate, but just then their food arrives and he’s getting side-tracked. You can’t blame him though, he hasn’t had a proper meal in way too long.

During the meal, he keeps catching himself stealing glances at Derek. He’s not quite sure how he feels about it. He starts to notice little things about him too, like how he’s so sweet with his daughter, so gentle, or how enthusiastic he reacts to her input when he talks with her. It’s obvious Kenny is his world.

The waitress (who he still finds annoying and who is _still_ flirting with Derek) comes back with the check, asking if they enjoyed their meals with way too much enthusiasm and a bright smile that Stiles wants to smack off her face.

And Stiles doesn’t know what to do with this, okay? He doesn’t know how to deal with this annoying, slightly hurt feeling in his chest when he watches Derek smiling back at her (Of course he knows it’s maybe possibly jealousy, but . . . well, he doesn’t think he’s ready to acknowledge that).

“Don’t bother sweetheart,” Kenny casually pipes up while looking at the waitress. “He’s gay.”

The girl’s face immediately falls and she plasters a fake, forced smile on it, instead. Derek just shakes his head with an amused little smile gracing his lips and pays for the food.

“You’re gay?” Stiles asks when she’s gone.

“Yeah,” Derek simply says and shrugs. “That a problem for you?”

“No!” Stiles exclaims. “No, of course not, I just . . . wasn’t expecting it, I guess.”

And he hadn’t. Not really. Sure, he’d had his personal little sexuality crises, but he can’t remember a single moment where he stopped and wondered if Derek might be gay, too. He definitely doesn’t look gay. Not that being gay has a ‘look’ per se, just . . . ugh. These thoughts are giving him a headache.

“What about you Stiles?” Kenny asks innocently. “Are you gay?”

He chokes on his own spit and quickly downs the remainder of his coke, ignoring the blush stretching from his head all the way to his chest.

“I ah,” he clears his throat awkwardly and rubs a hand over his neck. “I might be?”

She sends him a knowing little smile and nods. “Good.”

He’s too afraid to look at Derek, but that means he has a clear view of the door when a man he immediately recognizes enters the diner.

Ray spots them and walks up to their booth, putting a hand on Derek’s shoulder when he reaches them.

“Hey son,” he greets with a broad grin.

“Dad?”

“ _Dad?!_ ” Stiles echoes.

“Hey Grandpa,” Kenny greets the man in her sing-song voice.

“Hey kiddo. Stiles,” he nods at him.

Derek frowns. “You two know each other?”

“Oh, we know each other,” Stiles grumbles.

“Stiles is the kid I told you about on the phone. The spoiled brat?”

“I am no – ” he splutters, but is silenced by three identical eyebrow-raises. It’s creepy. And how did he not notice the similarities before?

“What are you doing here, Grandpa?” Kenny inquires, dragging him from his thoughts.

“Well I went to the farmer’s market today and was just driving through town on my way back home, but then I saw you guys sitting here and decided to say hi.”

Derek is still frowning and looks kind of . . . judgemental?

“He was sleeping at a bench in the park last night.”

Ah.

Ray shrugs. “He’s the one who ran away from the farm. Boy has made it pretty clear he makes his own decisions.”

Wow, way to make him feel guilty. Now he makes it sound like this is all Stiles’ fault, which . . . yeah, okay he can see where he’s coming from. Derek gives him a dubious look.

“You’d rather sleep on a bench like some homeless person than sleep in a comfortable bed at the farm?”

“No . . ., but – ”

“That’s ridiculous,” Derek interrupts him. “You’re going back to the farm tonight.”

Stiles wants to protest, but Derek is giving him this stern ‘or else’-look that shuts him up immediately. He lets out a deep breath, defeated.

“Fine.”

“Good,” Ray beams, like this is what he came in here for all along. “Now that that’s settled, you’re going to tell me both you and my little cowgirl here will be joining us as well, right?”

Derek huffs out a laugh. “Right.”

“Alright then,” Ray claps his hands together once and tilts his head to the door. “Let’s go home.”

 

 

Bewaren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos keep me going! Seriously, don't be scared to share your opinions with me, feedback is love!


	5. The Gift of Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~ Stiles must find a friend who accepts him without his money ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to take a moment to tell you guys how happy I am with all the positive reactions this fic is receiving. I really love writing this fic so far so thanks guys, I love you all!

 

**August**

 

Like most things with the Hale family, coming home is a completely different affair than with the Stilinski’s. With his own family, Stiles would be lucky if someone even said a simple ‘hello’ to him. His dad is probably the only one who would actually welcome him back home.

With the Hales, however, Derek and Kenny are greeted with such enthusiasm that there’s no doubt of how happy everyone is to have them back. Almost as soon as they enter the house, they get dragged in numerous hugs and kisses. The atmosphere has something . . . particular to it, though.

He thinks back to when Ray first introduced the family to him and how tense he’d been when he mentioned Derek and Kenny. For the second time, he wonders what is up with that. If there’s something serious going on here that he doesn’t know about.

That maybe they don’t even want him to know about.

Then Trevor surprises him by being the first person to express his enthusiasm about Stiles being back as well, enveloping him in a hug and patting him on the back a few times.

“Glad to see you back, kiddo.”

Stiles smiles, returning the hug. “Good to be back.”

 

* * *

 

Turns out what he thought was another guestroom in the attic, is actually Kenny’s bedroom. He hangs out with her that night and just . . . talks. He surprisingly doesn’t mind, like, at all. The little girl has a dry sense of humor that can match his own and throws around sarcastic and deadpan remarks like that’s the way she’s been talking since she learned how to form words.

He narrows his eyes at her when she gives him an assessing look.

“What?”

She puckers her lips, then tilts her head a little and finally answers.

“I’m trying to figure out if I can trust you.”

Stiles frowns. “Oh . . . so what’s the verdict?”

She shrugs and smiles. “Not sure yet. I’ll get back to you on that.”

He chuckles. “Alright then.”

“So aren’t you going to ask me?” Kenny asks after a short, but comfortable silence.

“Ask you what?”

“Where my mother is?” she asks innocently. “Though we both know what you’ll actually be asking is if my dad is single.”

“We – I,” he splutters. “I’m not even sure if I’m gay yet!”

“Trust me,” she says seriously, putting a small hand on his shoulder. “With the way you act around my dad, you most definitely are.”

Stiles buries his head in a pillow and groans. This is so embarrassing. Not to mention how awkward it is, like, if Kenny noticed it surely Derek has too. How is he ever going to face the guy after this?

“It’s okay,” Kenny reassures him, giving his shoulder a few sympathetic pats. “My dad is very handsome. This is just the effect he has on people. Which is why I need to figure out if I can trust you.”

“Wait,” Stiles says, removing the pillow from his face. “You say that like it’s a precaution or something. Like your dad has trusted the wrong people before?”

Now there’s a thought that makes him angry. He’s surprised by how sudden he feels it appearing in his chest. He can’t imagine why someone would hurt a man like Derek, who is so gentle, so sweet, who has so much love for his daughter.

“That’s not my story to tell,” she says quietly.

He nods and smiles at her, letting the subject go. “How about we watch a movie?”

“Let’s watch _Tangled_! It’s hilarious!”

He groans longsuffering when she starts humming ‘Mother knows best’ under her breath.

 

* * *

 

Later in his own bed, his eyes fall on his mother’s second letter and he picks it up, reading it again. Then he lies back in bed and stares at the ceiling.

He’s beginning to realize she might have a point. When he thinks about it, _really_ thinks about, he doesn’t have any actual friends. There’s not a single person in his life who like, _really_ knows him and stuff. No one really knows the reason for his behaviour or his attitude, everyone just immediately writes it off to cockiness and coming from a rich family. No one actually ever became friends with him for _him_.

Looking back on his life, he can’t remember a single person who was an actual, honest to God friend to him. So his mother _was_ right.

He goes to sleep with an uneasy feeling clawing at his chest.

Stiles spends the next couple of days on the farm in the family house with the kids, babysitting again, even though Kenny insists that she doesn’t need one.

After the second day, though, he realizes he’s getting bored and asks the women if the three of them can join them in the orchard (besides, he secretly has been wanting to see it since he learned about its existence).

They agree to let them come and he helps the kids to pluck fruit from the trees. Which basically means that he’s the one doing the hard work and the kids pick up the fruit from the ground once Stiles has been able to shake the things loose from their branches. Overall, it’s a nice day though.

It’s when he’s lying in his bed that night, staring at the ceiling again, that he hears whimpers and soft cries coming from Kenny’s room.

And it just . . . tugs at his heartstrings. He can’t figure out where this sudden protectiveness he feels for her is coming from, but he takes it in stride for now, getting out of bed and walking over to her room on bare feet to check on her.

Apparently he startles her awake when he enters her room, because she shoots up in bed and into a sitting position, breathing rapidly. He steps into the room and sits down on the edge of her bed, laying a gentle hand on her arm.

“You okay?”

She nods. “Of course.”

“You sure?” he asks, because well . . . Stiles isn’t.

“Of course. You can go back to sleep.”

“Nah, I wasn’t asleep yet anyway,” he shrugs, noticing the way her chest is still heaving, her heart still beating heavily, making a ruckus in her chest.

“How about I stay here with you for a bit until you fall asleep, huh?”

She stays quiet for a time, then relents. “Okay.”

Stiles rearranges himself so he’s sitting with his back against the headboard, slowly carding his hands through Kenny’s soft curls to help her calm down.

After a couple of silent minutes, she asks very quietly: “Stiles?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you maybe . . . lie down and hold me for a bit? It’ll help me fall asleep faster . . .”

His heart positively melts and he smiles down at her. “Of course, sweetie.”

That’s how Derek finds them the next morning: wrapped up cosily together, Kenny’s head buried in Stiles’ chest. Stiles stifles a yawn, too sleepy still to worry about how this might look.

Derek has a soft smile gracing his lips, though.

“Morning,” he whispers, his low and gentle voice making Stiles shudder. God, what is this man _doing_ to him?

He carefully unwraps Kenny’s limbs from around his body and gets out of her bed before things start getting even more inappropriate.

Stiles follows Derek out of the room, facing him when he’s shut the bedroom door behind him. He rubs a hand over his neck in what is fast becoming a nervous habit when he’s around the older man.

“She was having a nightmare,” he explains, unable to control the blush starting on his cheeks.

Derek gives him that smile again. “Don’t worry, I figured.”

“Oh,” Stiles breathes out. “She get them a lot?”

The man nods. “Unfortunately, yes.” He sighs. “She usually tries to hide them from me, though. So honestly, I should be thanking you.”

Derek’s stunning eyes are holding him captive again and he feels his knees go weak.

“No problem,” he croaks.

“So do you have plans for today yet?” Derek asks.

He shrugs. “Not really, no. I haven’t really thought about it.”

“Well, I’ll be working with the horses today, so if you’re bored feel free to pay me a visit in the stables, okay?”

“Yeah, that . . . okay.”

Derek chuckles softly and goes back inside Kenny’s bedroom, waking her up like he intended to do in the first place when he came up here.

Stiles, for his part, sneaks back into his own room, trying not to die of embarrassment. He pushes the door closed with a soft click, banging his head against it a few times. He’s going to have to figure out what to do with these feelings Derek awakens in him sooner or later . . . preferably before he does something stupid.  


* * *

 

  
In the end Stiles decides to take Derek up on his offer from that morning and visits him while he’s working at the stables. By the looks of it he’s cleaning them.

He scrunches up his nose at the smell when he actually enters the stables, walking up to the older man. He’s wearing a dark pair of ragged jeans and an old wife beater and Stiles’ eyes are immediately drawn to the muscles on display.

He still can’t comprehend how it is that Derek is the first guy who ever made him notice stuff like this, because he finds the scene in front of him extremely attractive. Not for the first time, he wonders how those arms would feel around him. What it would feel like to even do something simple as touch them.

Derek takes notice of his presence then and looks up, smiling at him and making Stiles breathe out a soft sigh.

“Hey,” Stiles greets him, waving a hand awkwardly.

“Hi.”

“So do you need my help with anything?”

Derek looks him up and down, assessing. Stiles bites his lip when the look makes his insides flutter. It’s very distracting.

“You know what,” Derek says, “I’m just about done anyway. Why don’t you take a look at the horses outside? I’ll join you in a minute.”

“Horses, right.” He nods and leaves the stables again, going over to the large, wooden pen where the horses are grazing like Derek suggested.

He watches the animals closely. He didn’t mention it to Derek, but he’s never really liked horses. Like, at all. They’re big and unpredictable, not to mention _smelly_. But the man seems to really love them and he seems to be wanting to share that with Stiles.

One of the horses saunters closer until it’s practically breathing on Stiles and he stiffens momentarily.

“Careful,” Derek’s low voice sounds by his ear, causing him to shudder once again. “He can smell your fear.”

Derek steps out of his personal space and leans on the fence next to him. He misses the warmth from his body already.

“I’m not scared,” Stiles huffs.

The man just raises an eyebrow at him, giving him a sideways glance. “Sure you’re not.”

He can’t help but chuckle. “I’m serious!”

“So come riding with me.”

“Ah – ,” Stiles hesitates, but doesn’t want Derek to know he was right, so he gives in. “. . . Fine.”  


. . .  


Giving in to Derek was such a bad idea.

Seriously, someone should stop him from making these stupid decisions. He’s horseback riding and he hates horses, for crying out loud! At least Derek seems to be having a good time. He seems . . . relaxed, more content. It’s a good look on him.

He shifts awkwardly on the horse he’s riding and Derek laughs at his (non-existent) riding skills. Which is saying something, given the fact that Derek partnered him with the most gentle horse they own and all he has to do is sit.

He groans.

Oh well. First time for everything, right?

 

* * *

 

  
A few weeks later, around the last week of August, he goes back to the nearby village with Derek and Kenny, because Derek needs to get some things from their apartment. He doesn’t go in with him, but waits with Kenny outside. Instead of going straight back to the farm like Stiles expected they would, Derek suggests they have a picnic in the park.

Kenny’s face immediately lights up and well, he’s not going to object after seeing that.

Honestly though, spending more time with the two of them isn’t exactly a hardship. Over the course of the last few weeks, he slowly learned little things about the pair and their family, like the kids being home-schooled. That fact actually made him freeze for a second, realizing that he too, won’t be going to school when summer break is officially over.

“You know, I still think you’re crazy for choosing to sleep on a bench in this park over sleeping at the farm,” Kenny mentions when they’ve found a spot and sit down.

“Well you’re the one who offered a quarter to two hobos,” Stiles shoots back with a wink. “Pretty sure that makes you the crazy one.”

“Some friend you are,” she snorts and rolls her eyes.

He tilts his head to the side, an idea forming in his head. Maybe . . .

“Hey,” he says, “okay this is going to sound really strange, but I’m just gonna come out and say it. I’ll make a deal with you. I need to find one ‘true friend’, but only for a little while and uh . . . in return, I don’t know, I’ll take you . . . both to Disney World!”

“What?” Derek frowns.

He sighs. “I need a friend.”

Derek looks like he wants to protest, but Kenny narrows her eyes at him.

“Explain yourself.”

“I’m . . . It’s complicated.”

She shakes her head. “No. It’s not. It’s pathetic.”

Well then. It figures she won’t be his friend. Maybe he just isn’t friend material or whatever. In the meantime his time to find one is running out and it’s starting to look like he will fail this task.

Then he spots movement from the corner of his eye, making him halt. It’s the same hobo he met when he crashed here that night days ago. Before he can express his surprise at seeing him again, the man dives to their picnic basket and grabs a handful of food.

“Whoa, hey, you can’t just – ,” Derek exclaims at the same time as Stiles says: “ _Dude_ , leave us alone!”

The man doesn’t look like he’s about to give up, though, his eyes going to their basket again. And okay, Stiles gets that the guy is hungry, but this is just rude. He stands up, ready to give the guy a piece of his mind when he spots the row of benches – and the ‘special bench’ they fought over.

The guy follows his gaze and his eyes widen.

There’s about two seconds where they look each other dead in the eyes, then Stiles is turning around and running, the guy hot on his heels.

He flings himself onto the bench and cheers, sprawling out onto the hard wood. “Oh yeah!” he smirks at the guy. “My bench.”

He can see Derek shaking his head at him in amusement while the hobo saunters off and Kenny walks over to him, taking a seat on the bench beside him.

“I’ve decided to give you another chance,” she says. “So like I said: explain yourself.”

He sighs. “Did your grandpa tell you why I’m staying at the farm with them?”

“Yes,” she nods, all seriousness. “Because you are an idiot who needs a lesson in respect and hard work.”

He scowls. “Right. In any case, I’m trying to figure out what my inheritance is. My mother left me _something_ , but instead of just giving it to me, she invented this game I need to play with a series of tasks. My next task is finding a true friend.”

“So, you have a bet with a dead woman?”

He nods. “Yep.”

“Cool.”

“Kenny,” Derek scolds her lightly. Then he turns towards Stiles. “Wait, how can you have a bet with a deceased person?”

“See, that’s the part that’s complicated,” he says. “She wrote these letters to me, with the tasks and stuff, but I only get them when I’ve fulfilled whatever she wants me to in the previous letter. And the guy who has control over them kind of hates me, so . . . ”

“Okay,” Kenny drawls, “so you don’t even know what you get if we go along with this?”

“Nope,” he shrugs. “Something about an ‘ultimate gift’.”

“And you’re not sure what that is?”

“Yeah, that about sums it up.”

She folds her hands together, then tilts her head to the side, briefly glancing at her dad before turning back to Stiles. “So what do we get if we agree to do this?”

He shares a look with Derek, who seems to be kind of uncomfortable with the whole subject. Kenny isn’t done speaking, though.

“We need money,” she comments. “How much are you willing to pay?”

“Kenny,” Derek scolds her again. “I’m sorry Stiles, you’re gonna have to excuse my daughter. Sometimes she tends to be a little . . . outspoken.”

“Honestly,” Stiles starts slowly, “I can’t promise you anything.”

“Now that’s better,” Kenny allows. “So I suggest we pay this ‘guy who hates you’ a visit and rub it in his face that you accomplished your mission.”

“Kenny,” he says, shaking her hand to seal the deal, “I like how you think.”

A couple of hours later finds Deaton back at the Hale’s dinner table, scowling at Stiles and Kenny for all he’s worth. He has no idea how the guy even managed to get here so fast, but he’s having too much fun right now to care. Kenny is obnoxiously slurping her drink through a straw and he wants to high-five her or something, she’s awesome.

“So you’re Stiles’ friend?” Deaton asks, incredulous.

“Yes,” she proclaims. “That I am.”

Deaton rubs his chin slowly. “True friend?”

“Absolutely, pinkie promise,” she holds her pinkie finger up for effect.

The man sighs. “So how long have you known Mr Stilinski?”

“Oh we go _way_ back,” she responds, crossing two of her fingers to express how close they are. “We’re like this. Now. Where do I sign?”

“One more question,” Deaton muses. “He hasn’t promised you any compensation for being his friend?”

She raises an eyebrow at the man in true Hale fashion. “Look at him,” she says, waving her hand in Stiles’ direction. “Does he _look_ like he has anything to offer?”

He bites back a chuckle. Seriously, he should have made her his best buddy the very day he met her. The little girl is amazing!

“So uh,” Deaton continues. “You expect this friendship to last, then?”

There’s something about the next sentence out of her mouth that leaves him feeling perturbed, something heavy settling in his chest:

“I plan on knowing Stiles for the rest of my life.”

 

 

Bewaren


	6. The Gift of Giving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~ Stiles must learn to be generous ~

 

**September & October**

It’s the second week of September when Stiles receives his next letter. Ray asks him to stay in his seat after breakfast and waits for the rest of the family to leave the room, after which Deaton enters, presenting Stiles with an envelope containing yet another task from his mother. He slowly opens it and starts reading.

_Stiles, you have no concept whatsoever of the value of money. Money has always been available to you, like the air you breathe. Of course I don’t know for sure, but I have a feeling that in the years I have been gone, you have been spending money without even a single thought as to the amount. I’m imagining expensive weekends in, let’s say, Paris. Or buying the newest cars, the newest gadgets, the latest in everything, including women._

 

He rolls his eyes at that, but can’t say she’s wrong.

 

_Even though I might not agree with your view towards money, I do admit that a great part of that is my own doing. But well, the past is the past. I figure you probably had a pretty tough month. Therefore, Deaton will have a little something for you._

 

He looks up from the letter, glancing towards said man, who’s still sitting across the table from him and is now sliding a small white envelope his way. With Stiles’ name on it.

“Is this . . . ?”

“Your first paycheck?” Ray asks, a tiny smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Sure is, kid.”

“Well it’s about time,” he comments dryly. “Thank you very much.”

This is amazing. Great. Wonderful. He finally has money again. Granted, it’s probably not all that much, but it’s definitely something. He might just be able to go back home now, rent an apartment for a while and see his dad again. Most importantly, though, he won’t be homeless anymore. Not that he’s not glad that the Hales have provided him a place to sleep, but still. He kind of misses Beacon Hills.

On the other hand – and this is almost too hard to admit – leaving Texas would also mean leaving Kenny and Derek. Which shouldn’t be a problem, they’re not actually even friends. Sure, Kenny stated to be his friend for his sake, but in all honesty they don’t even really know each other. Neither does Derek. So why is it that he still feels something tug at his chest at the thought of leaving?

“Kid,” Ray cuts him out of his thoughts with a snap of his fingers. He nods his head towards his mother’s letter. “Continue reading.”

Right. Of course there’s more. Why would he ever be so lucky as to just take his money and go. He should’ve known his mother would just immediately continue with her crazy plan.

 

_Alright son, since this is the first time you’re actually holding one of those, let me explain what it is. It’s a paycheck, for the hard work you did on Ray’s farm the first month. Now, I know that the temptation to spend it right away is pretty big, but for your own sake, you should refrain from doing so. I want you to take that money and as much as you need it yourself, spend it on someone experiencing a real problem. What can they teach you? Put yourself in their shoes._

_~ Your mother_

 

He folds the letter back up and looks at Deaton, who has been quietly staring at him the entire time he’s been here (the creep).

“So how will you know how I spend it?”

The man exchanges a sly look with Ray and looks back at Stiles, almost smiling. Which, honestly, makes him even creepier in Stiles’ opinion.

“We’ll know,” the man says.

Right. That doesn’t sound ominous at all.

 

* * *

 

 

A couple of hours later, Kenny knocks on his bedroom door and Stiles calls out for her to come in.

“Hi,” she says as she peeks her head around the door. “You want to come to the apartment with me and my dad? Maybe you’ll find some inspiration in town for your mother’s next assignment.”

“Oh,” he nods. “Sure. You really don’t mind me coming with you, though?”

“Of course not, dummy. We’re friends now, remember?” she says easily, shrugging her little shoulders. “Besides, you’re probably getting kind of bored around here.”

He coughs awkwardly. “Well, I – Yeah . . . ”

She giggles. “So are you coming?”

He nods and stands up from his bed, following her downstairs where they meet Derek at the front door.

“So thanks for letting me come,” Stiles tells Derek as they head towards the car, then promptly shuts his mouth and makes this horrified sound at the back of his throat when he realizes the double meaning of those words. “Gah, that’s not – ”

He stops short again when Derek laughs softly, motioning for Kenny to get in the car before turning around to face Stiles.

“It’s okay,” he says. “I know you didn’t. And you’re welcome.”

Derek winks and turns back to the car, getting inside the driver’s seat while Stiles takes a much needed minute to get himself back under control. That man is going to be the death of him, he swears to God.

The first thing they do when they reach the apartment is eat lunch, though Kenny passes and proclaims not to be hungry yet. As it turns out, Derek makes _the_ best grilled cheese sandwiches in existence, hands down. They talk some more, words coming easily, though it’s mostly idle small talk. Before Stiles knows it, Derek and Kenny are excusing themselves to run some errant or another and after hanging out at the apartment for a while, Stiles decides to hit the park again to look for inspiration like Kenny suggested.

Even though he really shouldn’t be, he’s surprised to see hobo-guy standing next to a random trashcan near the fountain. His mind immediately jumps to his mother’s letter, because if anybody could use some money it’s this guy. Ironically, he even has first-hand experience as to how he might feel in his situation.

He is about to pull out his money (Deaton had already cashed the check in for him) when the guy looks up and meets his eyes, panic struck on his face at the mere sight of him, hands in the air like he’s been caught.

Stiles would be laughing, if not for the fact that a familiar looking messenger bag slips from hobo-guy’s hands to the ground, the man immediately proclaiming he didn’t take anything and running away to wherever it is he spends his days.

He can’t help but investigate, taking a closer look at the bag before simply picking it up and going through its contents. He finds a wallet inside and looks for some ID, sighing when he finds it.

“Of course it’s his.”

‘His’ being Derek. If hobo-guy were still in the vicinity, Stiles would rip him a new one. Seriously.

He puts the wallet back inside the bag and takes out a bunch of papers. He’s aware that’s kind of a violation of privacy, but he’s just too curious to know why Derek would be carrying around a bunch of official-looking documents like this.

Going through the papers, he immediately regrets doing it. Why can he never leave well enough alone, for God’s sake.

They’re hospital bills. A lot of them. There’s even a letter that kindly orders the man to pay up a ridiculous amount of money and soon, ‘or else’. He frowns and stands up, putting everything back inside Derek’s messenger bag and closing it. Looks like he’s going to pay a visit to the hospital.

Luckily, the building isn’t hard to find and when he exits the lift on the floor of the children’s ward, a brightly glowing logo with the words ‘The Claudia Stilinski Wing’ is standing out on the wall right in front of him.

“Naturally,” he deadpans.

He steps up to the nurse’s station and asks for Mr Hale and she gives him directions to a room in the hall on the right. He follows the directions and slowly enters the room when he manages to find the right one.

He freezes, the bag slipping out of his hands as he watches Kenny lying there on the hospital bed, unconscious, but hopefully just sleeping. There’s no mistaking that she just had surgery, though Stiles can’t for the life of him figure out for what.

Looks like his suspicions were right, though. There’s definitely _something_ going on with the little girl.

He silently leaves the room, leaving the bag on the floor for Derek to find as he hightails it out of there. Everything inside him is screaming at him that he wasn’t supposed to see that. After all, if they wanted him to know they would have fucking told him.

Of course he hasn’t even reached the end of the hall, when he runs into Derek himself.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Derek asks.

“I, uh,” he stammers, for once in his life having no clue whatsoever what to say.

“You saw her?”

Stiles nods, rubbing a hand across his neck. “Yeah.”

“Did you talk to her?”

“No,” Stiles gulps. “She was asleep, so . . .”

Derek shakes his head at him, seemingly trying to figure out how to deal with Stiles being here.

“So what’s wrong with her?” Stiles asks, unable to deal with Derek’s sudden silence.

“That depends,” the man says.

He frowns. “On what?”

“On who you really are,” Derek sighs. “Look Stiles, this – ”

“Maybe I can help,” he suddenly proclaims. And he really means it, too. Anything to get that expression off of Derek’s face.

Derek takes a few seconds to think about what Stiles offered, dragging a hand down his face and finally answering.

“Kenny has congenital heart defect. We thought she was in remission after the last surgery she had, but a couple of weeks ago she started having difficulty with breathing again and now, here we are again.”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles says. He just doesn’t know what else to say.

Derek nods and starts to walk away from him, but Stiles stops him with a brief hand on his elbow.

“Hey, so . . . don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re gonna need money, right?”

“Stiles,” Derek stops and groans. “Just be honest with me. Is this just because you need to win that bet with your mother or do you actually care?”

“I do need to give away some money, but – ”

The older man shakes his head again, not waiting for his answer. “I bet you’re going to get to the end of your game, collect your cash and just ride off into the sunset.”

“I don’t know,” Stiles sighs. “Maybe. But Derek if I can _help_ you, why won’t you just let me?”

“Because,” he stops, but finishes what he was going to say a few seconds later. “No _rich kid_ is going to use me or my daughter to play a game!”

Well then. It’s good to finally know how Derek really feels about him. He turns on his heels and marches to the end of the hall.

“Stiles!” Derek calls after him, but he ignores it. For once in his life he actually cares about something and this is what he gets. Just perfect.

He’s almost crossed the lobby and almost doesn’t stop on his way out, when he spots the guy. He’s casually reading a newspaper, practically hiding behind the thing in his quest to appear inconspicuous. Pathetic.

He walks up to the man, who – in case you haven’t noticed – is Deaton’s inside man, sent out into the world to keep an eye on Stiles’ ‘money-throwing’ behaviour. He rips the paper out of the guy’s hands, leaning on the armrest of his seat so they’re face to face.

“He owes 1600 dollars in back rent,” he states, roughly folding the money Deaton gave him in the man’s hand. “Pay it.”

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles paces up and down the road at the border line of town, waiting for Trevor to pick him up. He’d called the man earlier to ask for a ride, because there’s no way he’s going to wait for Derek. He finally sees Trevor’s truck coming up and hops into the passenger seat as soon as the car has rolled to a stop in front of him.

“So,” the man starts after turning the car around and driving back to the farm. “You wanna talk about it?”

“Nope.”

Trevor sighs. “Well, I already called Derek to let him know I am taking you back, so he doesn’t need to worry about that.”

Stiles scoffs. “It’s not like he cares anyway.”

“Look,” Trevor says. “I don’t know what he did to piss you off, but just go easy on him, okay? My brother has been through a lot.”

Yeah, that’s what people keep telling him, but it’s no fucking excuse. The way Derek acted towards him this afternoon, the comment he made about him being some ‘rich kid’, it fucking hurt. And no matter how much he thinks about it, he can’t seem to figure out what he did to suddenly make Derek think that he doesn’t _care_. Because he freaking does, okay? He just . . . doesn’t know how to show it.

“So Derek told me you know about Kenny?” Trevor asks after a while.

He shrugs. “Yeah, I guess.”

“You know, it’s not like we didn’t want you to know or anything, but . . . it’s personal. We don’t want Kenny to feel different and Derek, he’s very protective of her.”

“I get it, I do,” Stiles sighs. “I guess I just wish you guys would have trusted me enough to tell me.”

They drive the rest of the way home in silence.

It’s three days later when he sees Derek again. Kenny is out of the hospital and doing well, and per Kenny’s request, she’s recuperating at the family home instead of their apartment this time around. Stiles isn’t sure how he feels about that.

What he does know, however, is that he is trying his hardest to avoid Derek. Which turns out to be pretty damn hard when the guy corners you in your own freaking bedroom.

They’re both standing there, just . . . looking at each other, Stiles’ expression decidedly harsher than Derek’s, who’s honestly looking kind of gloomy. Stiles crosses his arms and glares at him.

“What?”

“I came to apologize.”

He shrugs. “So apologize.”

Derek sighs and steels himself. “I’m sorry, for the way I acted in the hospital. I didn’t mean it like that. I was just . . . stressed.”

Now, Stiles wants to be angry. He really does. But faced with Derek looking so dejected, remembering the whole situation, he just . . . can’t. Yes, the rich kid comment stung, but that’s just what he is, isn’t he? It’s up to him to change that image.

“It‘s okay,” he sighs, deflating.

“Just . . . let me make it up to you? With dinner?” Derek asks and he looks so hopeful that Stiles wouldn’t be able to say no even if he wanted to.

So that’s how he finds himself having dinner with Derek a few hours later, eating delicious food in one of the restaurants in town.

“So,” Stiles starts, “is this like dinner or, you know, _dinner_?”

Derek looks up from his plate briefly to meet his eyes, then casts them back down immediately after.

“Just eat.”

“No, but seriously. Is this like a date? Because I think I need to know if it is. A date. That is.”

The man remains strangely silent for a minute, the tension rising and Stiles is about to say screw it when he finally answers.

“What do you want it to be?”

Stiles can’t help but chuckle. “Oh no, don’t spin the question back on me, mister. Just answer me. Please?”

Derek groans and takes a deep breath, and Stiles can’t be sure with the low lightning in the restaurant and Derek’s stubble, but he’s willing to bet money that the man is blushing.

“I might . . . not be, completely opposed to the idea of this, maybe kind of being a date.”

“Eloquent,” he snorts.

“Shut up and eat Stiles.”

After dinner, they decide to take the route through the park back to Derek’s apartment. Things between them are back to normal, or at least back to the way they were before the whole Kenny revelation. Anyway, Stiles is thankful for it. The weather is still pretty nice – though he’s trying very hard to ignore the darkening clouds above them – and there are still tons of people enjoying it in the park, ‘people’ being mostly couples. He realizes this date is awfully much like the stuff you see in sappy movies, or novels. When he spots a singing quartet serenading by the fountain, he bursts out laughing.

“Well, it can’t get any more cliché than this,” he jokes.

Derek freezes. “Don’t – ”

They both look up at the sky at once and Stiles curses himself when he feels the first raindrops falling on his face. He should seriously learn to keep his mouth shut one of these days.

Barely a minute later the sky has greyed out completely and rain is pouring down on them like crazy, he and Derek running with their jackets over their heads, racing to Derek’s apartment like their lives depend on it.

They make it back to the apartment in no time and when their eyes meet, they can’t help but laugh. Derek offers him a shower that he takes gladly and when they’re both dry and comfortable (Stiles in a pair of Derek’s sweatpants and a t-shirt while his clothes are in the dryer), they decide to watch a movie before they return to the farm.

Derek lets him pick the movie and Stiles roams through the man’s DVD collection. To his utter surprise, he finds all the seasons of _Friends_ , exclaims that he’s a HUGE fan and they marathon the best season, huddled into blankets with hot chocolate on the couch.

There was no tentative touching going on, or a first kiss with fireworks, and yet their date was somehow incredibly perfect. And he realizes that once again, his mother was right. You _can_ give other things than money to make people happy. Whether it be friendship or love, it already has made him feel better than money ever did.

* * *

 

 

It’s a Saturday around mid-October, the last weekend of the State Fair of Texas, which is why he shouldn’t be surprised that he isn’t being woken by his alarm, but by two hyperactive kids screaming about ‘today being the day’ and yelling for him to get his lazy ass out of bed already.

Seriously, for how enthusiastic they are you’d think they were going to Disneyland or something.

When Stiles buries his head under his pillow in an attempt to drown out the yelling, the little devils climb onto his bed and start jumping on him, because _why the hell not_? He groans and rolls onto his back, playfully knocking the kids off of him with his pillow.

“Remind me why we’re driving to the Fair at such an ungodly hour again?” he asks.

Kenny merely rolls her eyes at him. “Because if we get there early we won’t miss any of the fun, duh.”

“Yeah,” Kaine nods, “duh.”

“Right. I’m assuming you won’t give me five more minutes to laze around or anything?”

They shake their heads laughing and he sighs. Little tyrants they are, he swears to God. Though when he thinks about it, he wouldn’t be surprised if Ray or Trevor put them up to it. Maybe both . . . yeah, definitely both.

He gets out of bed, the kids running downstairs for breakfast and threatening to eat all the good stuff if he isn’t there in fifteen minutes.

Roughly an hour later, he’s sitting on the backseat of Trevor’s car, one of the kids on either side of him with Derek and his brother sitting in the front as they drive to the State Fair. The soundtrack of _Frozen_ is playing loud, the kids and Trevor singing along at the top of their lungs and Stiles isn’t sure whether he wants to laugh or cry.

Well, in any case, it’s better than the whiny country music Ray is surely playing in his own car right now.

The ride to the Fair is shorter than Stiles expected, which is kind of a relief. Trevor parks the car and they get out, waiting for the rest of the family to get out of Ray’s car and join them before they head over to the entrance to the Fair’s terrain.

They start their day of entertainment at the Hall of State Steps, watching some kind of belly dance, followed by a group of kids performing a ballet piece. Then they make their way to the Kid’s Boardwalk, where they watch the Ronald McDonald Show.

Later in the afternoon, he and the kids have the time of their lives trying out all different kinds of pastries and they’re all freaking delicious. He’s beginning to understand where the kids’ enthusiasm for the Fair came from.

It’s no Disneyland, for sure, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have a great time around here. They cater to every person’s wishes, neither the kids nor the adults get a chance to be bored. Stiles is definitely glad that he got the opportunity to come with them and experience this cultural highlight.

At the end of the day, they watch this beautiful lightshow with a lot of colour, dancing waters and fireworks. The group of them has claimed a small space back on the Hall of State Steps, finally sitting down for a while after a long day of walking as they enjoy the show.

Stiles feels . . . content. Happy. It’s a weird feeling, especially combined with this family he loathed so much in the beginning, but is starting to grow fonder of by the second. Kenny is heavily leaning against him, giving Stiles no other choice but to lean a small portion of his own weight against Derek, who’s sitting on his other side.

Their knees and thighs have been touching for the past five minutes and Stiles is trying very hard to keep his heartbeat under control. Every now and then him and Derek will be sneaking glances at each other and Stiles bites his lip and looks away with a small grin every time it happens. He feels like a ten-year-old with his first crush again.

“She asleep?” Derek whispers right next to his air, causing a shudder to run through his body. He casts a glance at the girl burrowed in his side and sees that she indeed has her eyes closed.

“Think so,” he whispers back, trying to ignore how close to each other they are. He wonders if he should maybe ask Derek out this time, so that they’ll finally have some time alone again. He feels like they could use it.

Then Derek surprises him by placing a hand around Stiles’ middle. He looks up, meeting the man’s eyes. Derek is smiling down at him and Stiles snorts, hiding his answering smile in Derek’s shoulder. He tries to return his attention to the show around them, but the warmth of Derek so close to him is very distracting.

So distracting, even, that he doesn’t even notice Kenny’s little smirk.

 

* * *

 

 

He’s standing in a dimly lit room, the only light in the room coming from what he suspects is a flickering candle in the corner. There’s a nice warmth coursing through his body, making him breathe out a relaxed sigh. He shudders when he takes notice of the firm body plastered to his back.

A pair of strong arms wrap around his waist, enfolding him in their warmth like a blanket. Sweet lips leave a trail of kisses up and down his neck, making him moan softly. One of the man’s hands slowly makes its way down Stiles’ stomach, taking a moment to scratch the hair of his happy trail teasingly before continuing its way south.

He gasps in surprise when the hand takes a hold of his hard cock and gives a nice, firm tug, making his hips buck. As the hand starts up a rhythm, the man’s lips travel to Stiles’ ear, nipping at the lobe before whispering:

_I want you, Stiles_

He startles awake, panting like crazy as his hand flies to his cock to desperately jerk himself to completion. He comes with a muffled cry into his pillow, trying to ride his orgasm as long as possible as images of Derek and the man in his dreams swim before his eyes.

When he comes down from his high, he immediately feels guilty. Not because he apparently had a sex dream about Derek (which honestly, was bound to happen sooner or later), but because the man’s daughter is sleeping in the room right freaking next to his. He groans, wondering how the hell he’s going to face her (or her father, for that matter) after this.

Stiles’ hand is getting sticky, so he figures he could probably use a shower. He gets out of bed and pads down the stairs, trying not to wake anyone since it’s still ridiculously early.

When he rounds the corner leading to the bathroom, however, he bumps into Derek. His mind doesn’t even give him the chance to be embarrassed, completely preoccupied with the sight of the man in front of him, who by the looks of it just took a shower of his own.

“Uh . . .” Stiles stutters as he takes in Derek’s still mostly wet body, naked apart from the white towel wrapped around his hips. He lets his eyes wander over the older man’s body, from the biceps and abs glistening with drops of water to his legs which are all strong thighs and calves, coated with dark little hairs that should _not_ be turning him on but totally are and yeah, he’s definitely going to need that shower now.

“Good morning,” Derek says, effectively cutting off his thoughts. “You heading for the bathroom?”

“Yeah,” he coughs, scratching the back of his head awkwardly, “Bathroom. I’m just gonna . . . yeah.”

He makes a beeline for said room, escaping from Derek’s _everything_ and silently praying that the man hasn’t noticed his boner. . .

A guy can dream, right?

 

Bewaren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if you guys liked it :)
> 
> Also for those of you who asked about it, the next chapter will reveal a little more backstory as to Stiles' family and the relationships between him and his parents. If there is something you'd like to know about that (or something you would like to see happening in general) be sure to let me know!


	7. The Gift of Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~ Stiles must spend time with family ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter took me so long you guys! I'm still not free for the summer, because my last exam is upcoming Wednesday. In fact, I am so nervous for this stupid (oral) exam that I have been literally sick because of it the past week and a half, which is ridiculous, but there you go. Anyway, this chapter is extra long to make up for this being so late, hope you guys like!
> 
> Warning: There's talk about death/dying in this chapter, so if that triggers you, be careful.

  


 

**November**

Days on the farm fly by. When he’s not hanging out with the kids or Derek, he even helps out on the farm a little. He can’t do much, because it’s clearly not his area of expertise, but he tries to do what he can. Spending his time doing nothing while everyone else is working their asses off made him restless. If seeing Stiles work with his family makes Derek give him this proud little smile, that’s nobody’s business but his own.

It’s November when he receives a new letter from his mother, from Morrell this time. He’s glad he doesn’t have to deal with Deaton for a change. He’s sure they’re both surprised when he greets her with warmth.

Like last time, they take a seat at the kitchen table. Stiles opens the letter and reads.

_Stiles,_

_Our lives should be lived not avoiding problems, but welcoming them as challenges that will strengthen us so that we can be victorious in the future. So, now that I’ve given you the gift of work and friends and the value of money, let’s discover the gift of family, hm?_

 

He groans and scowls at the letter, the word ‘family’ standing out in his mother’s fine handwriting, taunting him from the paper.

_Now, I’m sure you already know, but this is a tough one. Just . . . see if it’s even remotely possible to get something positive out of our family. See if they truly know how to count their blessings. If Deaton and I calculated correctly, this assignment might even fall on Thanksgiving. How appropriate._

_~ Your mother_

He whips his head around, staring wide-eyed at Morrell, who’s still watching him silently from across the table.

“She’s joking, right?”

She just smiles pitifully and he huffs. Guess that answers that question.

Soon after, Morrell leaves and Stiles decides to look for the kids. When he passes the entrance to the living room though, he accidentally overhears Laura and Derek talking. He’d keep walking, if not for the fact that they’re talking about Kenny. So instead of moving along like he should, he leans against the wall and listens in.

 _“So she’s getting worse, then?”_ He hears Laura ask. _“What’d the doctor say?”_

Derek sighs heavily. _“They basically told me that they’re giving her heart one more chance. If anything goes wrong again . . . her only chance will be a transplant.”_

_“Der, those transplant lists are endless. What if she won’t get one on time?”  
_

Derek’s silence is answer enough for the both of them and Stiles finally wills his body to move again. He had no idea Kenny’s condition is getting worse. And Laura’s concern is well-placed. It could take years for Kenny to receive a matching donor heart. He can’t even think about what will happen if it’s too late. Not to mention what it’ll do to Derek . . .

When he enters the kids’ playroom, only Kaine is present, completely focussed on building a castle out of Lego. He clears his throat to get the little guy’s attention.

“Hey,” he says. “Where’s Kenny?”

“She’s with God,” he answers solemnly.

He chokes on nothing, his voice breaking when he asks: “ _What?_ ”

“With God,” Kaine repeats slowly, finally looking up from his Lego creation. “In the hayloft at the stables?”

“Right,” he coughs, relief flooding through him. “The stables, gotcha.”

He leaves Kaine to his Legos and leaves the house, making his way across the property towards the aforementioned hayloft. He climbs the ladder and finds Kenny sitting in front of a little altar she must have made with the help of Derek or one of the other adults.

She doesn’t look up or even turns her head to acknowledge his presence, if she’s even realized he’s there at all. With the silence of the hayloft and Kenny’s serenity, he almost doesn’t want to approach her and break her moment. In the end his curiosity gets the best of him and he moves closer, quietly taking a seat on the ground beside her.

“What are you doing here?” she asks after a couple of minutes.

He shrugs. “Just wanted to see how you were doing.”

“Right, because now you know all about me. No more mysteries. Poor little Kenny.”

Ah, so they were finally going to have _this_ conversation. He wondered when it would come up again, knowing they would have to talk about it someday. He just didn’t expect Kenny to be so surly about it.

“Look, I’m really sorry – ”

“Shut up!” Kenny exclaims, grumbling. “Don’t be pathetic.”

He chuckles softly. He hears her breathe out a sigh, tilting her head to the side as she looks at the little Jesus sculpture on the altar.

“I wonder if He takes advance orders,” she muses softly.

Stiles frowns. “For what?”

She’s quiet for a while, not daring to even glance at him as she answers with a slight tremble in her voice.

“For my place,” she says, her fingers nervously playing with the hem of her shirt. She briefly nods her head towards the sky. “You know, up there.”

He wants to throw an arm around her to comfort her with a hug so bad, but her earlier attitude towards being coddled makes him decide against it. Doesn’t mean he has to like it, though. A girl her age shouldn’t have to worry about things like these. About _dying_ , or the afterlife.

“What do you think it’s gonna be like?” he inquires gently. As much as he doesn’t like her thinking about it, if he can help her at all by sitting here and talking about stuff like Heaven, he’s gonna damn well do it. This time, it doesn’t take her long to answer, a barely there smile on her face.

“Butterflies. Lots of butterflies.” She turns towards him. “Do you know God paints every colour of a butterfly, with his fingers?”

He leans towards her a little, positive that she won’t mind now. “I didn’t know you thought about stuff like that.”

She bites her lip, averting her eyes again as to not let Stiles show the tears forming in them.

“I think about time,” she admits. “There’s something basically unfair about a person dying.” Her voice breaks, and on the next sentence she doesn’t bother hiding the fact that she’s crying anymore. “I even hate the idea.”

This time, Stiles doesn’t fight the urge to throw an arm around her, neither does she pull away. He swallows, trying to clear the lump in his throat.

“Listen,” he says softly. “I don’t know much about God, or Jesus, but I can _promise_ you that those arms,” he points at the Jesus statuette in front of them, “they’re meant for you.”

She sniffs, looking up at him with so much heartbreak in her eyes that the lump in his throat returns in full force.

“What’s gonna happen to my dad?” she whimpers. “I really don’t hate him, you know.”

There’s nothing Stiles can say to that, really. So he just pulls her close and lets her cry for as long as she needs to. He gently wipes the tears from her cheeks when she’s calmed down and she looks up at him with her big doe-eyes.

“Did I mention,” she starts, a little bit of her usual cunningness finding its way back into her voice, “I wouldn’t be upset if you kissed him?”

He draws his head back a little, eyebrows climbing up his forehead.

“Do you think your dad and I . . .?”

“Okay,” she huffs. “It’s official. You are the slowest person I have ever met.”

He laughs. “Oh really?”

“Yes!” she exclaims, hands moving to convey how passionate she is about this. “You two are _made_ for each other. I knew that back in the park.”

“In the park I looked like a bum,” he points out indignantly.

“Now let’s not be delusional,” she says. “You _were_ a bum.”

He playfully tickles her side at that until she manages to shove him away from her with a giggle.

“So,” she states. “What are you doing for Thanksgiving?”

 

* * *

 

 

It’s not even a week later when things take a turn for the worst. He, Derek and Kenny were having another one of their lazy days in the park, when the little girl started complaining about chest pain and trouble breathing. Naturally, they immediately brought her to the hospital to have her doctor check on her and her fragile heart. She’s sleeping back in her hospital room, while he and Derek wait outside in the waiting area for news from her doctor.

A part of Stiles wants to say something, anything to reassure Derek that things will be okay. Only they both know that things probably won’t be okay. Nothing he’ll say will be of any help right now, so he opts for sticking by Derek’s side and offer silent support.

Derek stands up from his seat when the doctor comes into view, his face carefully composed, though Stiles knows he’s fearing the worst. He slowly gets up as well, standing slightly behind Derek as they wait for the doctor to speak.

“Mr Hale,” the man starts. “I want to send Kenny’s charts to another specialist. See if she’s a candidate for a transplant. I’m afraid she’s in serious need of a new heart.”

“Okay,” Derek says, then clears his throat. “So she’ll be fine after the transplant, right? We’ll just have to wait for that, then?”

“Yes, we believe so,” the man nods. He frowns, looking slightly uncomfortable. “However, finding a matching heart for a girl her age is going to be tough. We’ll do the best we can, but for the moment it’s up to your daughter’s heart to buy us more time. I would also like to keep her at the hospital for now so we have a closer eye on her. I’m afraid that at this point there isn’t much else we can do for her.”

“Yeah,” Derek croaks. “I get it.”

The doctor leaves them alone, and Derek runs his hands through his hair, taking a shuddering breath. There are tears in his eyes and when Stiles lays a hand on his shoulder, he has to bring a fist to his mouth to stifle a sob.

“Come here,” Stiles whispers, enveloping him in a hug.

There isn’t anything they can do but wait. Stiles doesn’t think he has ever felt more hopeless.

After checking in on Kenny to make sure she’s still asleep, he and Derek move to the cafeteria downstairs for coffee. They sit down at a table in the most secluded corner and to Stiles’ surprise, Derek voluntarily brings up Kenny’s mother.

“Her name was Kate,” he begins. “We were in a relationship the last two years of high school. When we were about to move off to college, she found out she was pregnant. She was okay with it at first, and we were figuring things out.” He sighs. “But then we learned that Kenny has congenital heart defect and just like that Kate didn’t care anymore. Told me ‘a kid like that’ wouldn’t be worth it. So she went to college and it’s been just me and Kenny ever since.”

Derek shrugs and Stiles, he just . . . can’t believe what he’s hearing. He can’t for the live of him understand how anyone could be so heartless and cruel. How a woman can turn her back on her own child like that after carrying the baby for nine fucking months.

“I’ve tried dating after her,” Derek continues. “But when they learned I have a kid, people broke things off. In the end I’m okay with it though, because Kenny . . . she’s the best decision I ever made.”

Stiles nods. “She thinks you’re a great dad you know. As do I. Besides, if they can’t see how awesome the two of you are . . . they don’t deserve you anyway.”

“So,” Derek says after a while. “Apparently someone came by and covered my back rent. Was it you?”

Stiles shrugs innocently, taking another sip from his crappy hospital coffee to hide his face.

“Thank you.”

He nods again, unwilling to make a big deal out of it. He’d do it again in a heartbeat. Instead, he brings up something more important.

“So I have a question for you, and I hope I’m not being out of line here, but I was wondering if you’d like to join me for Thanksgiving?”

“Oh,” Derek says, looking down at his cup of coffee with a slight frown. “That’s nice of you to ask, but I can’t. Obviously Kenny needs me here, so,” he shrugs. “But thanks.”

Stiles nods. “Well, that’s too bad. Now you’ll be missing out on a perfect example of a way too wealthy, American, dysfunctional thing that’s . . . yeah.”

Derek chuckles and Stiles tentatively smiles back. The man sighs heavily.

“You know I have the strangest feeling I might have enjoyed it.”

They leave the cafeteria after that, going back up to Kenny’s room. She’s awake now, reading a book one of the nurses must have brought her. Stiles offers to go back to Derek’s apartment to get the little girl her pyjamas and stuff, which the man gratefully accepts.

He’s glad he can give them a moment to themselves, even though he doubts that any of them will let on how scared they are right now. After he’s got a bag packed for Kenny, he wonders whether he should call Ray or something to fill him in on the situation. He decides not to, though, figuring it will probably be best if the news comes from Derek himself.

When he gets back to Kenny’s hospital room, the door is ajar and he can hear Kenny and Derek talking inside, making him stop.

 _“What are you thinking about?”_ He hears Kenny asks, a smile evident in her voice.

Stiles can hear Derek shift in the chair he’s occupying. He can just imagine what his face looks like right now. Lightly biting his lip, or maybe averting his eyes to whatever he was entertaining himself with.

 _“Nothing”,_ the man answers, way too innocently. Stiles has to bite back a chuckle.

 _“Ooh,”_ Kenny sing-songs, _“You’re thinking about Stiles.”_

Stiles almost chokes on his own spit. He can hear Derek move again, standing up from his seat to join his daughter on the hospital bed.

_“Yeah, he’s weird isn’t he?”_

_“He’s a good weird,”_ Kenny comments. God, he loves that girl.

 _“You know,”_ Derek says, _“he invited me over to Thanksgiving with his family.”_

Kenny hums. _“Oh really?”_

 _“He did,”_ Derek nods. _“But of course I told him ‘whatever loser’.”_

The little girl giggles and Stiles imagines Derek just did something to imitate what his daughter looks like when she says that, hand-gestures and all.

 _“I think you should go,”_ she says softly.

 _“Absolutely not,”_ Derek disagrees. _“I wouldn’t dream of missing Thanksgiving with **you**.”_

Stiles smiles and sighs. Well, at least they tried.

 

* * *

 

 

Ah, Thanksgiving. The time of year when you count your blessings and think generally happy thoughts. Unless you’re from Stiles’ family, that is. Seriously, he is so not looking forward to this.

One good thing about it this year though, is that he doesn’t have to suffer through it alone. Because Derek said yes after all. So they’ll be spending today and part of tomorrow in Beacon Hills, then come back to Texas to celebrate Thanksgiving with the Hales after.

“So why did you decide to come?” Stiles asks when he picks Derek up from the hospital.

Derek huffs out a laugh. “My daughter banished me.”

“Oh,” he chuckles. “So I have you by decree?”

“Hmm,” Derek muses. “Knowing Kenny, by design.”

He laughs and looks around, searching for Derek’s car. “So where’d you park?”

The man arches an eyebrow at him. “Who said anything about a car?”

“What do you mean?” Stiles frowns.

Derek points at the waiting bus a couple of feet away from them and gets inside. Stiles blinks. When Derek notices he isn’t following, he turns back around.

“You okay, Stiles?”

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’ve never been on a bus before?”

He shrugs. Derek rolls his eyes with an amused sigh and unceremoniously drags him into the bus. Well . . . he can already tell this day is going to be interesting.

Hours later, after another flight in coach (though admittedly this time it was a little less horrible), he and Derek arrive at the Stilinski family estate back in Beacon Hills. Derek’s eyes widen.

“Wow,” he breathes.

Stiles just sighs, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Brace yourself.”

“Stiles, it’s okay,” Derek says, bumping their shoulders together. “Seriously. Kenny bets that they are perfectly normal people.”

He huffs. “Yeah, well, I hope they’ll prove her right.”

They enter the ridiculously large house, where Melissa welcomes them in the entry hall. She makes a small, surprised noise when Stiles wraps her in a hug and gives her a kiss on the cheek.

“It’s good to see you again, Melissa.”

“Likewise,” she says, a smile slowly finding its way upon her face. “So who is this nice gentleman?” she nods at Derek.

He introduces the two of them, forgoing any labels since he has no idea what to call either of them. Melissa leads them up to the room they’ll be using then, getting his attention with a hand on his arm right before she leaves.

“Texas has been good for you,” she comments. “Your dad will be happy.”

“Yeah, where is he anyway?”

She gives him a sympathetic smile. “He’s in his rooms. To be honest, I think he’s kind of nervous to see you again. You should pay him a visit before dinner.”

He nods. “I will.”

With that she goes back downstairs, leaving him and Derek to get settled.

“So,” Stiles sighs after closing the door. “Welcome to my world, I guess.”

Derek is spread out on one of the beds – luckily Melissa was thoughtful enough to give them a room with two – shamelessly stretching, making his shirt crawl up a little and reveal a stupidly enticing treasure trail.

“You know,” the man muses, “All this luxury is probably a bit much for me, but this bed I could get used to.”

Stiles chuckles. “I don’t doubt it.”

Derek rolls onto his side, propping himself up on his arm. “You know, if you want to go see your dad I can entertain myself for a while.”

“You sure?”

The man nods. “Yeah, no problem. Go say hi to your old man.”

He smiles. “Okay then, I won’t be long.”

As he makes his way over to his father’s rooms, he can’t help but feel a little bit nervous himself. It’s true that their relationship is getting better, like it was before his mother died. However, after everything that happened, they aren’t all that close anymore.

He thinks back to the time just after his mother died. How in the first few years from then, the relationship between him and his father made a complete one-eighty to the worst. Until Stiles’ mother got ripped from their lives, the relationship between him and his dad had been good. Even the relationship with his mother hadn’t been all bad, the three of them making their own little family within the Stilinski clan.

Her death had hit like a bomb into their lives, causing his dad to become an alcoholic and lose his job as the Sheriff of Beacon Hills. Stiles himself started to just throw away his life and started to spend money out of some form of protest. Anyway, neither of them cared anymore, both men having lost the ability to give a crap in that moment.

And even though Stiles has been angry at his family for the circumstances around his mother’s death, he mostly feels betrayed by both his parents. He’s angry that they never gave him a chance to say goodbye . . .

But like he said, his dad and him are better now. His dad doesn’t drink anymore, even went to rehab. And he’s trying to be a good parent again, but it’s hard if Stiles doesn’t let him in, which the man has acknowledged is his own fault. Anyway, it’s probably about time they have an adult conversation about everything.

He tentatively knocks on the door to his dad’s rooms, waiting for the man to open. When he does, his dad’s face breaks out into a smile.

“Stiles!” he exclaims. “It’s good to see you, kiddo.”

They hug and Stiles doesn’t quite manage to hide his own smile. “You too, Dad.”

While Stiles takes a seat on the couch, his dad sits down on his favourite armchair.

“So Melissa told me you were nervous for today,” Stiles mentions. “Why?”

“You mean besides the obvious?” his dad asks, giving him a wan smile. “I guess I was just afraid you were still angry at me, after that call you gave me. I don’t mean to make you feel like you’re being punished or anything. You probably don’t understand yet, but you will after you’re finished with your mother’s letters. Hopefully, one day you’ll be able to forgive both me and your mom for treating you the way we did. Just . . . know that I’m trying to be the father you deserve.”

“No Dad, it’s – ”

“Please,” his dad interrupts him. “Don’t say it’s fine. We both know that it’s not.”

Stiles bites his lip. “Yeah.”

They’re quiet for a while, lost in thought. He’s glad that his father is at a point where he can admit that the way he acted after his mother died wasn’t okay. He frowns.

“Hey Dad, can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” his dad nods.

“Why did you stay here, after she died? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure this place makes you as miserable as it makes me.”

The man sighs. “You know, I never cared much about your mother’s family. Let alone the money that comes with it. I only ever moved in here because it made your mom happy. She meant the world to me.” He clears his throat. “Anyway, odd as it may sound, this is still the place that makes me feel closest to her. And these days I need the money too, unfortunately. I’m too old now, no one in their right minds would hire me anymore.”

Stiles nods. “I guess that makes sense.”

“So, don’t take this the wrong way, but I’ve been wondering for years where this anger towards your mom is coming from,” the man asks quietly.

“Because she _left_ , Dad!” he exclaims. “She _knew_ she was sick and she still fucking left us!”

“Stiles,” the man sighs heavily. He can’t blame him, they’ve been over this like a million times already. "That was her own decision to make.”

“Yeah, well, doesn’t mean I have to like it,” he mumbles petulantly.

“So . . . I heard you brought a friend home,” his dad says, changing the subject.

He rubs a hand across his neck, slightly embarrassed all of a sudden. “Yeah, uh . . . his name is Derek. He’s Ray’s son, so.”

“Ah,” his dad nods. “So when you say ‘friend’, do you mean friend, or . . . ?”

“I mean friend,” Stiles huffs.

“Alright,” his dad says, putting his hands up in defence. “Just curious.”

They talk a bit more after that, but Stiles soon has to get back to his own room to get ready for dinner. Besides, he promised Derek he wouldn’t be too long.

"Hey, how'd it go?" Derek asks when he enters their room.

“Better than expected.”

The man grins. “I’m glad.”

They both get ready and change into something fancy, then they head back downstairs for dinner. There’s classical music playing in the background, the long table set with their finest china.

He meets Derek’s eyes across the table.

"This is nice," Derek says softly.

Stiles lifts his eyebrows, because all the conversation around the table is currently about money. Literally all his uncles and aunts are boasting about what major business success they currently have. Not that he was expecting anything else. He’s just sorry he has to put Derek through this.

“And what sort of business does your family come from?” one of his aunts asks Derek, who’s sitting next to her.

“Uhm,” Derek says uncomfortably, “Farming.”

“Oh,” his aunt nods. “How delightful.”

 _Oh, how sincere she sounds_ , Stiles thinks, internally rolling his eyes.

“Okay!” he says instead, raising his voice. “I’d like to propose a toast.”

“Yes,” one of his uncles rudely takes over. “To each other. For suffering through another year of great adjustment.”

The boasting business talk starts back up, accompanied by his relatives making snide remarks at each other. He meets Derek’s eyes once again, trying to convey how sorry he is. Seriously, what was he thinking when he asked Derek to come here? He can’t believe he made him leave Kenny behind for this.

“So Stiles,” one of his uncles starts. “Care to enlighten us why you insisted on all of us getting together on Thanksgiving? Did you finally figure out what you inherited from Mommy?”

“It’s Thanksgiving,” he simply says. “I was hoping maybe we could all go around the table and each say something that we’re most thankful for.”

There’s a beat of silence, then the table erupts into snorting laughter.

“You always were the funny one,” his uncle chuckles. “Which is probably why you brought home a man, right? I’m telling you, you always did anything to get attention.”

To Stiles’ surprise, his dad defends him before he can do it himself. “Okay enough! You may not be respectful to each other but I’ll be damned if I let you talk to my son and his guest like this! What the hell is wrong with you?”

“You know,” Stiles says, standing up slowly. “I think we’re done here. Come on, Derek.”

He leaves the room, Derek thankfully close behind him. When they’re in the entry hall, he hears his father calling after them.

“Stiles wait!”

He turns around to face him. “I’m sorry Dad, I just . . . I don’t wanna be here anymore. This whole thing was Mom’s idea anyway. I tried, but there’s no way this task isn’t gonna fail. We’re leaving.”

His dad lets them go after that. They pack their bags in a rush, which since they didn’t pack a lot anyway thankfully doesn’t take too long. He says a quick goodbye to his dad and leaves the house with Derek. He can’t wait to be out of here.

“Stiles, slow down,” Derek says as they make their way down the driveway.

“I put up with that for years, Derek,” he rants. “I was a part of that.”

When they’ve reached the sidewalk, Derek makes him stop.

“There is something I always want you to remember, okay? When I met you, you were a homeless person. And you made friends with my daughter, we even shared peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. All this without me knowing anything about your background.”

“Yeah well, the problem is . . . that’s me back there.”

“Yeah, but you can walk away from all that. Honestly, I think you already have.”

“Look,” Stiles sighs. “I appreciate what you’re saying, but money changes things. It gets you stuff, it’s a way to live life, worry free. Money takes away the worry.”

“Yeah, I saw what money can do,” Derek says. “And your worries, or whatever you wanna call them, they’re not life or death Stiles.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “But getting my inheritance is a matter of life or death and I _know_ when I say that I sound like I’m being a Stilinski and being a Stilinski is all about money, but it’s not. It’s more.”

Derek shrugs. “Okay.”

They fly back to Texas that same night, without talking anymore about it. Stiles wishes he could explain properly to Derek why he’s acting the way he is right now, but in order to do that, he should figure everything out himself first.

On their way back to Derek’s apartment, the man speaks up after a long silence between them.

“So uhm, I’ll figure out a way to pay you back as soon as possible.”

Stiles halts in his steps, completely dumbfounded. “What?”

Derek turns around, stopping as well. “The money I owe you, for the back rent?” he says with a shrug. “Anyway, I think I’ll stop by the hospital for a little while. You can go ahead and sleep at the apartment. Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Wh – Derek!”

He calls after him, but the man doesn’t stop or look back, just keeps walking. Away from Stiles. He sighs.

Happy Thanksgiving.

 

* * *

 

 

That weekend, they go back to the family farm to celebrate Thanksgiving with Derek’s family. Things between him and Derek have been . . . awkward, since they came back. Stiles has tried to apologize, but there’s still a lot of confusing feelings between the two of them. He has definitely been thinking about stuff a lot the past twenty-four hours.

Dinner at the Hales goes way better than it did at the Stilinskis, unsurprisingly. It really is a family gathering, with all people happy to be there and to spend time with each other. Even Kenny is allowed to come over from the hospital.

He desperately wants to fix things with Derek, so after dinner, he asks him if they can talk for a minute, leading the other man outside.

He buries his hands in his pockets as they walk along the sand path to the orchard, unsure of how to start.

“So, I wanted to apologize,” he sighs. “Again.”

“So apologize,” Derek shrugs good-naturedly, using the exact same words Stiles did when their roles were reversed.

“I really am sorry, Derek.”

“I know,” the man says, meeting his eyes with a soft smile. “Apology accepted.”

He lets out a breath of relief. “Good.”

Derek chuckles. Then, he surprises Stiles by linking their fingers together and tugging lightly.

“Come on, I want to show you something.”

The man leads him almost all the way to the back of the orchard. Stiles is glad that it’s so dark out, otherwise the blush on his cheeks would probably be way too obvious. The only light outside is from the moon and something shiny up ahead.

“What’s that?” he wonders with a frown.

“Fireflies.”

Sure enough, the path up ahead is literally full of tiny little lights from the fireflies, completely taking Stiles’ breath away. It’s magical. They slowly walk along, their linked hands lightly swaying between them.

“You know,” he starts. “I’ve been thinking a lot, about what you said the other day. About me being a rich kid? Made me realize some things.”

Derek hums, idly playing with Stiles’ fingers.

“What did you realize?”

“Well,” he sighs, “For one that just because I _am_ a rich kid, it doesn’t mean I have to act like one. That sounds very simple now, but at the time I didn’t care what other people thought of me, you know? I actually preferred it if they didn’t care, because . . . ”

“. . . Because?”

“Because then they wouldn’t see through the asshole act. As long as I kept spending money and pretended to be Mister Popular, no one would ask any questions. It’s what they’d expect from a Stilinski anyway.”

“So what changed?”

He looks up then, catching Derek’s eyes. “You. You’re the first person in a long time who I care has a positive opinion of me. And you made me realize how unfair I’ve been. To my dad, to you and your family. But also, I think, to myself. I should never have given up that easily. Now I spent so much time convincing everyone that I’m a dick with money that I don’t even know who I really am anymore.”

“Hey,” Derek says gently, tugging Stiles to a halt. “I’m proud of you. Just the fact that you’re admitting to making mistakes proves you’re not as much of an asshole as you claim to be. And . . . between you and me? I think the man you are becoming is turning out to be a pretty great guy.”

Stiles can’t help himself. He leans in and kisses Derek. Their lips have barely even met, just touched each other, when he moves back.

“I’m sorry, tha – ”

But Derek sweeps back in and continues kissing him. This time, Stiles doesn’t pull away. He just lets go, lets himself enjoy it. And boy, does he ever.

“Wow,” he breathes when they eventually break apart.

Derek chuckles. “Come on, let’s head back.”

The man drops him off all the way to his bedroom, gentleman that he is.

“Goodnight Stiles.”

He bites his lip and smiles. “Night Derek.”

He closes his bedroom door and falls onto his bed, hiding his dopey expression in his pillow because he _can’t stop smiling_. He thinks it’s about time he admits it to himself:

He is in love with Derek Hale.

 

Bewaren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I imagine the conversation between Stiles and his dad may have raised some questions, because it’s still a little vague . . . don’t worry, they’ll all be explained in time ^_^


	8. The Gift of Learning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~ Stiles must realize that he still has a lot to learn about life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! We've officially reached the second half of the story now and . . . yup that's all I'm gonna say about it.
> 
> Happy reading!

 

**December**

Ever since their first kiss a couple of weeks ago, he and Derek have been taking it slow. They went on a couple of dates, they kissed some more, even fooled around a little bit, though nothing seriously sexual happened yet.

You’d think he would mind with his sexual history, but to be honest . . . he just really doesn’t. He _likes_ that they aren’t forcing anything. He likes taking the time to get to know Derek better. Also, spending time with Kenny brings him just as much happiness and joy as spending time with her father. Plus, he knows Derek really appreciates it and in turn, Kenny is happy to see her dad happy.

Whenever Derek’s working on the farm – most likely at the stables or with the horses outside – Talia sends Stiles to get him for dinner, a knowing little smile on her face. He’s happy to do it, though. His like of Derek is way bigger than his dislike of the horses.

He’s sitting at the kitchen table with Kaine and Derek’s sisters when Talia announces that dinner’s almost ready. He stands up, leaving the room with Laura and Cora teasingly catcalling after him.

“Go get ‘m, kiddo!” Laura hollers.

He rolls his eyes and keeps walking, hiding the grin that’s tugging at his lips. They’ll never let him live it down.

Stiles walks across the land towards the stables when he doesn’t see Derek outside. The large sliding door is ajar and he slips in silently, trying to sneak up on the man. Not that it has ever worked before, but one of these days it will. He’s sure of it.

Normally, Derek’s already cleaning up when Stiles comes to get him, but this time he’s not. Well, maybe he is, but he’s not at his usual place in the corner where all the horses’ grooming supplies are. He frowns.

“Derek?”

No answer. Ugh.

“Dude, you in here?”

He listens intently for any kind of reaction, knowing Derek hates it when he calls him ‘dude’. Still no answer, though. He steps further inside, checking the individual stables for any sign of the man. He’s almost at the far end of the barn when he feels more than hears Derek try to sneak up on _him_ , the bastard. Soon enough Derek’s warmth is right behind him, sending shivers up his back. The man’s hands fall on Stiles’ hips and his mouth finds its way to Stiles’ ear.

“Looking for someone?”

He smiles and turns around, loosely wrapping his arms around Derek’s neck. “Well, now that you mention it yeah, I am.”

Derek hums. “Well, what’s he look like? Maybe I can help.”

“Hm, well he’s slightly taller than me. Dark hair, immensely expressive eyebrows. Build like a Greek God. So you know, not really my type.”

“Oh really?” Derek muses. “So what is your type, then?”

“Ah well, handsome gentlemen with a soft spot for their daughter tend to sweep me off my feet these days. So distracting.”

The man chuckles and leans in, meeting Stiles for a kiss. He breaks away and Stiles leans his forehead against his.

“Hey,” he whispers.

“Hey yourself,” Derek whispers back, stealing another quick kiss. “Is dinner ready yet?”

He hums. “Almost.”

Derek grins. “Good.”

Then Derek is moving away from him, gently ushering him outside and behind the stables where he pushes Stiles against the wall. A small ‘oof’ escapes his mouth, but a second later Derek’s lips are back on his. This time the man doesn’t keep it chaste, deepening the kiss almost immediately. Stiles is right there with him. Derek’s an _amazing_ kisser, okay? He’ll happily do this all day.

They’re interrupted by Trevor, mumbling a ‘Jesus Christ’ before continuing towards them.

“Children!” he gasps mockingly. “What’ll the neighbours think?”

Derek rolls his eyes at his older brother, but does put some space between him and Stiles.

“We don’t have any neighbours.”

“And now we know why,” Trevor deadpans. “Come on you two, dinner’s being served.”

When they step into the kitchen, Kaine gives him an exasperated look, looking from him to Derek and back with a little confused frown on his face.

“What took you so long?” he demands.

“Yeah Stiles, what took you so long?” Laura sniggers. “Did you take a detour and roll in the hay?”

Trevor winks at them. “Careful there Laura, we don’t want to give them any ideas.”

He and Derek quickly take a seat at the table, both of them blushing. Has he mentioned that Derek’s siblings are evil? Because they are. Definitely.

Oh, who is he kidding, he totally likes it.

“You guys did . . . _clean up_ , though. Right?” Talia asks after a second.  
  
_Ugh.  
_

* * *

 

  
Early December, he receives his next letter from his mother. Unlike previous times, Deaton and he don’t have a stiff exchange of words over the kitchen table, but actually sit down in the Hales’ living room. It’s almost like the man is warming up to him now that he’s come this far in his mother’s line of assignments.

Also unlike previous times, the man is holding two letters in his hands, the first of which he gives to Stiles to read.

_Stiles,_  


_One of these days you’re probably going to attend university. If I know you, you will probably choose a school that is ranked in the top three. And when I say ‘top three’ here, I’m talking about the three best party schools in the country._

_You might be rolling your eyes at me right now, but do you truly know how to learn? Stiles, every process worth going through will get tougher before it gets easier. That’s what makes learning a gift._

_Even if pain is your teacher._  


_~ Your mother_

Well . . . that doesn’t sound ominous at all. He’s already having a bad feeling about this. Deaton’s tiny smile isn’t helping to soothe his nerves either.

The man hands him the second envelope, identical to the first one, though Stiles is sure that its contents will be something completely different. He opens it carefully, a scowl forming on his face as he figures out what is expected of him now.

“No,” he shakes his head vehemently. “No fucking way.”

Deaton merely raises an unimpressed eyebrow. Stiles stands up from the couch and glares at him, pointing an accusing finger towards both envelopes now lying on the coffee table.

“ _Anywhere_ but there. I know what she’s trying to do and it’s not gonna work. She can take her millions to her grave, I don’t give a crap.”

Deaton clears his throat. “What she’s trying to do is for your benefit, not your destruction.”

He huffs. “You know Deaton, you sound just like her, but guess what? You’re not her.”

“Correct kid,” the man grins. “I’m fairly certain I’m a man. I do have one of her kidneys, though.”

Ugh.

Seriously, he’s done with dealing with this man. He turns around without another word, leaving the room as fast as humanly possible. He’s got some thinking to do.  


* * *

  
He’s pacing the hall in front of Kenny’s hospital room. She’s just here for a random check-up, thank God, but he finds this hall strangely productive for his thinking process. Besides, when he’s done he will have to talk to her and Derek anyway, so. Two birds, one stone and all that jazz.

He’s interrupted in his umpteenth walk down the hall by the little girl herself, appearing in the door of her room.

“You’ve been out here for hours.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve got some big decisions to make.”

“Are you ever gonna come in, or go home?”

He scowls. “I don’t have a home.”

Kenny crosses her small arms over her chest at that, glaring right back. “You’re right. We all hate you.”

He nods and averts his eyes. “I know.”

She frowns, sighing. “Stiles, I’m joking.”

“You are now,” he says gravely.

“What’s that mean?”

He gulps, steeling himself. “That I’m going away for a while.”

“What?”

Shit. Of course Derek would choose that moment to come and join the conversation.

“You’re leaving?” Derek asks, voice frighteningly void of emotion.

He nods.

“Then why are you even here?!” Kenny explodes.

This is exactly what he was afraid of. He doesn’t want to leave, let alone to _that_ place, but at the same time he knows he has to finish his mother’s stupid game. He just has to. And he is very aware that by choosing to do so, Kenny and Derek are getting hurt as well, even though he in no way means to do them any harm. But by Derek’s stoic expression and the look of utter betrayal on Kenny’s face, he knows the damage is already done.

“Because I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye, first.”

Neither father nor daughter says anything, both opting to just stand there and wait for him to explain himself.

“I have to leave the country for a while, ‘cause of my mother. And I’m reluctant to go, because of what I’m leaving behind.”

“And what’s that?” Kenny grumbles.

And Stiles, well . . . he doesn’t really have an answer for that. He knows how _he_ feels, but to say it out loud, put it out there like that? He’s not sure if he’s ready for that just yet. If _they_ are ready for it. So he says nothing.

“Well,” Kenny sighs. “Then you have to go. Get out of here.”

She shrugs her father’s arm off and disappears inside her hospital room. Derek himself, surprisingly, takes a step closer to Stiles.

“So you’re really leaving, huh?” he asks. Stiles hates that he still can’t get a read on his emotions.

“Yeah.”

“How long have you known about this?”

“Since this morning,” he answers truthfully, then sighs again. “It’s complicated.”

Derek’s face turns sombre. “It’s always complicated with you.”

It really is, isn’t it? He doesn’t know what that says about him or his life. He definitely isn’t proud of it, that’s for sure. He steps closer to Derek then, determined.

“Look, I don’t know how soon I’ll be back and I’m not asking you to wait for me, but . . . I just want you to know that when I do get back, I hope I’m closer to being the man you deserve.”

Derek nods and Stiles gives him a small smile, about to walk away.

“Stiles?” the man stops him.

“Yes?”

“Just . . . be careful, okay?”

“I will.”

He turns around for real then. This time, he’s almost reached the end of the hall before someone momentarily stops him again. He’s not surprised that Kenny is the one yelling one more thing at him before he goes.

“YOU BETTER BE BACK BY CHRISTMAS!”

Yeah. He’ll try.

 

* * *

 

Two days later he finds himself in the place he vowed never to visit. The place of his nightmares and to be honest, kind of a personal hell. He wasn’t kidding when he told Deaton he’d go anywhere but here. Not that it helped him much in the end.

After landing with the small, old airplane, a man picks him up with a jeep that looks like it’s been driving through rainforests or other rough terrain its entire life. He then drives them to a little village in the Middle of Nowhere, Ecuador.

There’s no real buildings, no paved streets, no viable sources of _anything_ , no nothing. It’s hot and humid, which isn’t all that surprising considering they had to literally drive through rainforest to even get here. The few houses they do have look shabby, made out of random pieces of wood or stone and with what looks like reed covered roofs. Goats and chickens randomly walk around.

He’s been here for all but five minutes and he hates it already.

The car stops and he gets out, taking in the ‘building’ in front of him. His eyes are immediately drawn to the little wooden plaque next to the door: _Stilinski Biblioteca._

“Even down here you put your name on everything,” he scoffs and rolls his eyes.

He startles when a small woman suddenly rushes out of the apparent library, talking enthusiastically as she makes her way towards him.

“Welcome, welcome!” She’s in front of him then and oh – yep they’re hugging now. ‘Cause that’s what strangers do around here, apparently. She moves away again, but leaves her hands on his shoulders, assessing him with a big smile. “Stiles Stilinski. Oh, so good to meet you!” She shakes his hand and he can’t do more than nod dumbly and shake back while she rattles on. “I’m Bella.”

“. . . Hi.”

“May I be the first to show you inside,” she offers, proudly swinging her arm in the direction of the building. “The library your mother built.”

Huh. The things you learn. He knew his mother went on business trips to this place, but he had no idea her reasons were so . . . philanthropic.

He nods, shaking himself from his thoughts. “Yeah, sure.”

The inside is not what he was picturing with the word ‘library’. The room – because that’s the only thing he can call it, a room – is barely bigger than his bedroom at the Hales. Literally the only things standing there are a couple of rickety bookshelves with not nearly enough books to fill them, an old writing table, and some chairs.

“Where are all the books?” he asks, baffled by the proud look still on Bella’s face.

“Oh,” she snorts after a second, “Oh, you joke! With the people . . . is it not like that in the uhm, the libraries of America?”

After seeing his still completely confused look, she clarifies.

“Villagers, they wait for books. You bring them new books. They are waiting for you to . . . pick up old books. Exchange. Library, si?”

He picks up one of the books, leafing through it. It’s not even in English and very used. He sighs.

“So basically, I’m in a third world country, at a backward library with no books.” He scowls at the pages in front of him. “And the books that are here I can’t even read.” He snaps the books shut. “Perfect.”

Bella hums and clasps her hands together in front of her mouth, then walks over to the writing table. She takes out an old, opened envelope from one of the drawers and shows it to him.

“This, I found when I was cleaning this desk, after I heard of Claudia’s passing. Thought maybe you would like to keep.”

He carefully takes it from her, recognizing it pretty much immediately. Yes, it was years ago, but this . . . _he_ wrote this. Along with many other letters to his mother whenever she went away for business. Most, if not all of them are folded together inside the envelope.

Bella smiles. “When you sent this to her, she proudly showed it to all of us.” She sighs. “Then the tragedy.”

He feels kind of bad for the sweet woman, but he just has to get out of there. _Now_. He goes back to his guide at the jeep and orders him to bring him to wherever he’s staying. Which, as the man proudly tells him, is Claudia’s old house. Fucking _hell_.

There’s a small, single bed pushed up against one wall and he reluctantly lies down on it, taking a deep breath before pulling one of his old letters out of the envelope. He tries to swallow past his suddenly dry throat and pillows his head on his arm. After another deep breath, he starts reading.

 

 _Dear Mom,_  


_How is Ecuador? I miss you so much. You know my birthday is coming up. I was thinking instead of giving me gifts this year, could you take me on one of your trips? I promise I won’t cause any trouble. I just really want to see you again soon. Write back please._  


_Love, Stiles._

He lets his letter fall to the ground, closing his eyes for a second as he relives those moments. He remembers how much he hated it when his mom went on one of her trips. How lonely he was with both of his parents working so much. Back then, he didn’t have any trouble confessing those feelings to his mother, even downright pleading for her to spend more time with him. He bites his lip. Those feelings have never really gone away. He still feels lonely as hell. The only difference is that nowadays, he doesn’t let anybody see it. Or maybe he’s just never known who to confess it to ever since she . . .

He sighs. He should try and get some sleep. The distant rumble of a thunderstorm will probably help him fall asleep. Maybe.

 

* * *

 

The next morning he’s – believe it or not – working. Voluntarily. At the library.

He’s doing this kind of repetitive thing where he glues a new spine of a book back to the pages, because most of these books are literally about to fall apart. It’s kind of sad to see, really. When he isn’t gluing books back together, he is reorganizing the shelves, putting the new books Mister Guide (he still hasn’t been able to get an actual name out of the Jeep’s driver) brought to him away. There’s several crates full of them and slowly but surely the little library is starting to look like an actual library again.

He’s busy at the writing desk, his back to the entrance, when he hears heavy footsteps on the floor.

“Uno momento por favour,” he says without looking up.

“You look just like your mother,” the man tells him.

That does make him look up.

“I was here the night she died,” he continues.

Stiles slowly turns around to face him. It’s a man around his dad’s age, dressed in some kind of Indiana Jones outfit, fedora and all.

“It happened up on that mountain, didn’t it?” he asks him, indicating the green mountain they can see through the window and from pretty much every other spot in the village.

The man just nods.

“Take me there?”

He doesn’t know why he’s asking, because to be honest he doesn’t even want to go there. He doesn’t want to step foot onto the same ground where his mother died years ago.

But then, part of him really does. Ever since he learned about her death, he’s felt this need for answers. To know what the hell she was _thinking_ before she . . .

“We cannot go,” the man says, interrupting his thoughts. “It’s in the province of the drug lords.”

“You don’t understand,” he says, agitated. He stands up. “I’ll pay you. Well, someday.”

The man glares at him. “I understand perfectly. But señor, I only have one life.”

“You’re just bargaining now, aren’t you.”

“Señor Stilinski,” the man shakes his head. “You do not want to pay the price it would take. No one who goes there returns.”

Well, it’s a good thing he’s a no one, then. He doesn’t say it to this man, though. He can tell by the look on his face that he won’t budge. So Stiles will just have to find another way to change his mind. He _needs_ to go to that mountain.

He needs to go to the place where his mother ended her own life.

 

Bewaren


	9. The Gift of Laughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~ Stiles must learn to see the joys of life ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update again guys, life got in the way :(  
> Pretty short chapter, it's kind of an interlude, next one will be longer. Hope you all are still enjoying this, though!

 

**December**

The following weekend, the locals of the small town in Ecuador throw him an honest-to-God _party_. Seriously, talk about unexpected.

He had been working at the library all day, when Bella interrupted him in the late afternoon and all but ordered him to put down his work and come with her.

Stiles, not knowing what else to do – and to be honest quite happy to have an excuse to stop working for the day – went along with it and joined her outside.

She went ahead and led him to some large kind of party tent, one of those kinds you might see at Indian weddings. Again, it was all very unexpected. Right now, Bella is about to enter the large tent, but she turns around and smiles at him before she does.

Then she does go inside and he figures she does something to get the attention of the other people, judging by the sudden lack of noise coming from inside. He can hear her voice clearly when she speaks up:

“Our guest of honour, mister Stiles Stilinski!”

He enters the tent and he can’t help but smile widely when everyone starts clapping and cheering enthusiastically at his arrival. A young woman quickly makes her way over to him and places a crown of some sort on his head, made out of big leaves and flowers he wouldn’t be able to name if he tried.

Stiles takes a moment to take in his new surroundings, still trying to get over the fact that they went through all this trouble for _him_. Someone they hardly even know.

The first thing he notices is the massive amount of people and he’s willing to bet that the whole town has been invited. In the centre of the tent is a small campfire, giving the whole space a nice, warm glow. Surrounding the fire are all sorts of seats, from actual (wooden) chairs to what seem to be random pillows. To one side of the tent stands a large table, covered in all sorts of food. At least half of it is stuff he has never seen before.

Bella waves to get his attention and leads him over to one of the wooden chairs. When he’s seated, yet another young woman hands him a plate of the unidentifiable food.

He pokes at it a little and chuckles. “I’m afraid to ask.”

“Oh, you’re nervous?” Bella inquires. “It’s so rare we catch one.”

Yeah, he really doesn’t need to know. He’s happy it at least smells good.

An old man stands up from his seat and steps in front of him. Bella nudges him to make him stop eating and pay attention.

“The Chief is going to talk,” she whispers.

“Oh, okay,” he nods.

He puts his fork down and gives his attention to the short man. The man opens his mouth and says a lot of things . . .

Which unfortunately, are all in Spanish.

Seriously, the only thing he was capable of understanding was his own name. He turns to Bella with a confused frown, glad when she smiles at him and starts translating.

“He says: we are here to celebrate you and those who keep the S. Stilinski Library alive.”

People start cheering again and shit, that’s just not right.

“No, no, no,” he objects quickly, shaking his head. “He must be mistaken. My mother was very generous, everything’s named after her.”

Bella shakes her head, patting his hand reassuringly.

“No, it really is the S. Stilinski Library.”

The old man babbles some more and Bella laughs, standing up as well and prompting him to do the same. His plate is set aside for the moment and instead he is handed a cup of something else he doesn’t know to drink.

He raises it, bringing out a toast.

“To my mother,” he says, because whatever, why the hell not.

He takes a sip from his drink and, yup, that’s definitely alcohol right there. He is really starting to like these people.

Some of the villagers start playing music, on some kinds of drums and the like, while most of the adults keep celebrating and bringing out toasts. So much in fact, that at some point Stiles loses count of how many times he’s raised his glass and shouted ‘salud!’

Knowing this, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that he becomes pretty drunk pretty quickly. Stiles is a giggly drunk, meaning he laughs about anyone and everything. He loosens up and for the first time in months, he is able to forget about his quest for his inheritance.

Here, tonight, with these people, he can truly enjoy the moment for a change.

It’s one hell of a culture shock for him. These people, villagers who live in a town with literally _nothing_ , still know how to have a good time with each other. It’s almost like they’re one big family, coming together to celebrate life. There’s no talk of money, or health, or whatever other problems they may have.

All they do is laugh and have a great party.

Stiles has to admit he kind of loves it. He makes a mental note to try and be more like these awesome people, but he isn’t all that sure that he’ll remember in the morning. Damn, this alcohol is the good stuff.  


* * *

 

 

He wakes up early the next morning, wide awake and luckily not nearly as hungover as he expected to be.

Luckily, because now he can sneak out and do the thing he has been wanting to do ever since he spoke to the mysterious man in the library. The jeep is still standing outside his hut and he silently makes his way over to it, climbing inside.

He turns the ignition and puts the car in drive, praying the rumble of the engine coming to life won’t wake anybody up. He turns onto the road that leads out of the city and up to the mountains and starts his drive. Judging by how far away the mountain still seems to be, it is probably going to be a long one.

Stiles is well out of the village, the sun already up, when there’s a sudden movement from the backseat.

“You cannot hope to find it without me,” mysterious-guy says, placing his fedora back on his head with a big yawn.

He smirks, not even surprised the man saw right through him from the beginning.

“How did you know I’d go?”

“You’re a Stilinski, are you not?”

Good point. Still though . . .

“I thought you said you couldn’t take me?” he asks.

“My purpose in coming to you was a promise I made to señora Claudia. That you could learn the truth.” The man pauses, but when Stiles doesn’t say anything, he continues. “She had one desire and one desire alone; to ask your forgiveness.”

Stiles scoffs. She won’t be getting it anytime soon. Especially not until he’s found some damn answers.

“She told me one day you would come,” the man goes on. “Only then you could learn the truth.”

They drive on in silence for a long time and he is happy the man doesn’t try to make small-talk or anything. It gives him time to think about why the hell his mother planned it all like this.

Suddenly the man surges forward, shouting at him to stop the car. He sounds so urgent that Stiles decides to do as he says.

They get out of the car and the man points to a wild passageway in front of them. He doesn’t even have to say anything. Stiles knows that this is the place.

He goes ahead and makes his way through the thick foliage, the man right behind him, but he keeps his distance when they break through the leaves and arrive at the spot where his mother breathed her last breath. Stiles expected to find a lot of things, but it certainly wasn’t this.

There, right in front of him, is lying a totalled, almost unrecognisable vehicle. _Almost_ , because he certainly recognises it.

His mother’s beloved jeep.

 

 

Bewaren


	10. The Gift of Gratitude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~ Stiles learns to be thankful for what he has ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So . . . it's been two months, sorry again. My health hasn't been the best lately, but it's finally improving and I'm getting back the desire to write, so hope you all like this chapter :)
> 
> Just to be sure, see the end notes for warnings for this chapter if you have triggers.
> 
> (still not beta'd, so if you catch any big mistakes, please let me know)

 

**End of December & January**

It’s his mother’s _Jeep_.

Stiles is speechless. This is about the last thing he expected to find here. Before he can stop it, he’s overcome with a wave of old memories of the vehicle. They’re fond memories from the time when everything was still good in their little family. A time before he started to resent first his mother, and later his dad, though that relationship seems to be returning to the way it was now.

His mother would take him out in this car, just driving around the city. The rest of Stiles’ family hated the Jeep with a passion, but somehow Claudia loved the old baby-blue car. He remembers she would turn up the radio, both of them singing along at the top of their lungs to whatever song was playing, while his dad pretended to bleed from his ears at the sound of it. It almost startles a laugh out of him.

He carefully walks closer. Part of him expects to find his mother’s rotting corpse or something, even though he knows that’s impossible. Her remains were flown back to America a long time ago. Still, he takes his time to reach the totalled car for a closer look.

There are random branches and other foliage growing right through the car’s interior, the windows all broken. A lot of other things are missing as well, like one of the wheels and the radio. Probably stolen.

He traces his fingers over the steering wheel, suddenly missing her immensely. He misses his _mom_ , not the woman he started to refer to as his mother after everything that happened. He leans his arm against the car and buries his face in his elbow for a while, trying to get his emotions under control. He doesn’t want to grow sympathetic towards her. She doesn’t deserve his understanding.

Not after lying to him about being sick. Not after repeatedly telling him she was fine when she was actually dying. Not after coming to this hellhole with that knowledge and not coming back to her family. Not after leaving him without giving him a chance to fucking say _goodbye_. She ruined _everything_.

He stands up straight again, sniffing and quickly wiping at his eyes.

“She’d learned of a village some miles ahead, that was in need of medical supplies,” his companion speaks up softly. “We warned her not to go, but she was a stubborn one, your mother. It was while she was riding on this road that she got an . . . episode, you could say. Her illness compelled her to ride herself into her death. ‘S tragic, but no one was at fault. Please, Stiles, understand that your mother never meant to leave you. The sickness in her brain changed her and she knew it. She was only trying to protect you from herself.”

Stiles turns around then, ready to give the man a piece of his mind, but stops short when he hears the sound of a gun being cocked. He sees the man flinch as well and before either of them can blink, several men walk out of the surrounding foliage, aiming their guns and rifles at them without wavering.

He bites his tongue when he feels the end of a rifle nudge his back and swallows with difficulty. This isn’t good.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles curses himself as they’re led back to these people’s camp. His companion had warned him about this, hadn’t he? But no, Stiles had to be stubborn and come out here anyway. His undying curiosity has gotten him into trouble once again.

Every member of this gang – he doesn’t know how else to describe these men – has at least one gun or other weapon on them and although he can’t be sure, he doesn’t think any one of them would think twice about shooting them. One of the men calls out in Spanish, something he can’t understand.

About a minute later, a man steps in front of him, his filthy black hair almost reaches his shoulders. This must be their leader. The man regards him in silence for a moment, until he finally speaks.

“ _Americano_?”

His companion speaks up, but since it’s Spanish again Stiles has no idea what he’s telling the guy. For all Stiles knows, he could be talking about the weather. Not very likely, he knows, but still. He huffs, trying to blink the rain from his eyes. Yes, it’s raining. He can hear thunder, too. Guess his situation wasn’t bad enough without the shitty weather condition.

The boss-man responds with a flurry of words Stiles still doesn’t understand and then they’re led away to a short row of stone cells. They unceremoniously throw him inside and lock the door behind him. He grunts in pain, but scrambles back up to his knees to peek through a small slit in the door. The men are walking back to the centre of camp, leaving him there in his cell. Alone, wet and shaking.

He leans back against the wall and closes his eyes, trying to get his breathing back under control. He can’t deal with a panic attack right now, even if it would be fucking logical for him to lose it under the circumstances.

It takes him a long time to calm down and when he does, he falls into a restless sleep.

 

* * *

 

Days go by.

The only things that enable him to keep track of time are the little bit of light that falls into the cell and the meals and water he receives twice a day. Though meals is a big word for the little food he is given. He can’t complain, though. Could be worse . . .

It’s almost been a week. At least he thinks so. He kind of lost track of time after day three.

He’s hungry. Everything hurts from sitting in the same position for too long. He has a little room to shift, can even stand if he wants, though not completely upright and to be honest . . . he just doesn’t have the energy. He just sits there, slumped against the wall, legs stretched out in front of him as they almost touch the opposite wall. He stinks. His cell stinks. He’s miserable.

He’s giving up.

At some point that day, he hears a strange sound next to his head and turns it in time to see a folded piece of paper being pushed through a crack in the wall. It falls on the sand-covered ground beneath him and he picks it up, curious despite himself.

He reads what’s on the paper, softly mumbling the Spanish words to himself. It looks like a poem, but he isn’t sure.

When he hears the sound of his companion’s voice through the wall, he looks up, crawling closer and trying to peek through the crack into the other cell.

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times,” the man translates for him. “It was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness.”

More time passes.

Believe it or not, but Stiles has a beard now. He used to think he was incapable of growing an actual beard, but seems like being locked up for long enough without a chance to shave does wonders for his facial hair.

Sometimes, his companion translates more of the Spanish text and Stiles listens with rapt attention. He thinks he would have gone insane if it weren’t for their brief conversations. Who knows, maybe it’ll improve his Spanish in the end.

“Neither love, nor hate thou life. But what thou livest, live well. However long or short, may the heavens permit.”

One night, as he’s lying on his back, using his arm as a pillow, he surprises himself by asking the man to tell him about his mother.

“In many ways, she was very similar to you. Restless, curious, angry. I think she saw something in you that she missed in the rest of her family. The fire, the same fire she possessed herself.”

He frowns and turns to his side, mumbling into the darkness.

“I still don’t forgive you.”

He wakes up with a start when the men from the camp haul his companion from his cell and drag him to the centre of camp, near the fire they light every day. He follows them with his eyes through the slit in the door, until he can’t see them anymore. He can hear them, though. He wishes he couldn’t. He’s about 90 percent sure that they’re beating the guy up.

He sits back against the wall and lets out a desperate sigh.

Later that day, they come for him. They drag him out of his cell and to the camp, blindfolding him as they go. They push him to his knees and they fall silent.

Since he can’t see, his ears are on high alert and he freezes when multiple guns are cocked at once, clearly aimed at him. His blood runs cold and he gasps.

“No, no, no,” he exclaims, shaking. “No, no please, please! I can pay you! I have money, _please!”_

He gets some annoyed Spanish mumbling in response and chokes back a desperate sob.

“Oh God does anyone understand what I’m saying?!”

One of the rifles is being fired and he shrieks, shielding his head with his arms.

Nothing happens.

It falls silent again and then his blindfold is taken off. He breathes heavily, unsure if he should feel scared or give in to his relief. There are more prisoners beside him and they look just as bewildered as he does.

“Feliz Navidad,” the gang leader yells with a laugh, shooting more bullets at the sky for the hell of it. His men join him in his laughter.

Stiles cries. Big, heaving sobs that wreck his body, but he doesn’t give a shit right now. He couldn’t stop if he tried.

A bottle of some kind of alcohol is passed around among the prisoners, but he declines. The thought of getting drunk around these people scares him more than anything. He sees his companion passed out against one of the trees and feels sorry for him, but doesn’t know how to help.

The gang leader speaks up again, probably to order his men to bring them back to their cages. A few minutes later, he finds himself back inside his cell, after he’s been roughly thrown back inside. Normally, they lock his door with a latch, but this time he doesn’t hear it. He shuffles closer to the door and peeks through the cracks, just able to see that they really did forget to lock the door. They were probably too drunk to remember.

He leans back against the wall, thinking for a minute. Maybe this would be his chance to get out of here. Then again, where the hell would he go? He doesn’t exactly know where he is. He would have to find his way back to his mother’s jeep, hope the car he took to get there is still there. That’s if he even makes it out of here at all.

It suddenly hits him that he missed Christmas. Kenny is probably pissed at him. Derek will be disappointed, most likely. He’s let them down again. It’s stupid, but the circumstances really make him realize just how much they mean to him. Their whole family, really. For the first time in a long time, they made him feel part of something. Like a real family again.

Derek opened up to him, even with his shitty past and Stiles just kept being an ass. And even though he acted like an asshole, Kenny still wanted to spend her Christmas with him. It’s all too late, though. He left them. It’s almost ironic that he’s doing a similar thing to them than what his mother did to him, the thing that made him resent her the most.

He blinks, unsurprised to find that there are tears in his eyes. The thought of never seeing them again is almost unbearable. And what about his dad? They just started to rebuilt their relationship. If the man loses Stiles too . . . it will kill his dad for real this time.

For some reason, a couple of hours later his mind drifts back to what the gang leader said before he was thrown back in his cell. One word somehow stuck inside his mind. Something like _muele. Muere_?

“ _Muerte_ ,” he breathes. “Death.”

Yeah, he definitely needs to get out of here. Period.

He peers outside and sighs in relief when he sees everybody passed out from either fatigue or the alcohol. Most of them must have retreated to their huts, because there are decidedly less gang members present than he thinks there should be.

Without thinking about it any longer, he pushes the door of his cell open, still surprised when it gives. After a quick look around, he sneaks out and hightails it through the foliage on the right as silently as possible. When he deems himself far away enough from the camp, he runs.

Paranoid, he keeps looking back, expecting to be followed. Nothing happens, though. Losing focus, he startles when he runs straight into a muddy stream that comes up to his knees. He wades through it, panting when he reaches the other side and crashes through the shrubs. He takes a moment to breathe and puts his hands on his knees.

That’s when his conscience, moral compass, whatever you want to call it, starts getting to him, reminding him that he left his – although reluctant – companion behind.

He makes a face and groans softly, frustrated with himself. He knows he has to do the right thing and go back, though. The guy would do the same for him. Probably.

Everyone is still out when he gets back minutes later and he’s relieved once again. One of the men seems to slowly be waking up, but Stiles knocks him out again before he can give him away. His companion is still lying at the tree, unconscious. Stiles rushes over and shakes him awake.

“Hey,” he hisses, soft but urgent. “Hey!”

The man slowly comes to and looks at him groggily. Stiles brings his finger to his lip to keep him from saying anything.

“Save yourself,” the man urges.

Stiles grimaces. So much for gratitude. God, this guy is as stubborn as Stiles is, isn’t he?

“Come on,” he grunts, hauling the man to his feet and supporting him as they stumble their way out of there as fast as possible.

This time though, they _are_ being followed. He could just run, leave the guy behind like he told him to. But he can’t. He would never be able to live with himself. So he throws an arm under the man’s arms and helps him along as much as he can, all the while looking back to gauge how far the gang members are from catching up to them.

Finally, the man seems to get control over his legs back and is able to run through the forest with him. They run, all the way down the fucking mountain, it feels like. He wouldn’t know. He doesn’t care. All he cares about is getting the hell out of there and back to the little village he would call Heaven right about now.

At some point, Stiles knows they aren’t being followed anymore. They aren’t going back to his mother’s Jeep, either. His companion leads them back by foot, but all Stiles cares about is getting them both back in one piece.

And they do.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles heaves a breath of relief when his plane lands back on American ground. Seriously, he could cry right now.

After he and the man – after everything he still doesn’t know his name; then again, he’s pretty sure the man prefers it that way – arrived back at the village, he immediately contacted Deaton and arranged the flight home. After a shower, shave and a quick nap, he was on his way back home. And God did that feel good to say.

When he walks into the arrival hall of Houston Airport with his luggage, he expects Morrel or hid dad to be there to pick him up. Maybe even Deaton, since the guy had sounded pretty shaken over the phone. Who he sees instead completely takes him by surprise, though.

“Derek?” he breathes, a small frown forming on his face. He promptly lets his luggage drop as the man walks up to him, wrapping him in a bone-crushing hug. Not that Stiles minds even a the tiniest bit.

“Hey,” Derek says, voice filled with emotion. Stiles can relate.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, completely in awe with the simple fact that he gets to hold this man again.

“Morrel called me the minute they finally heard from you. When you missed Christmas she filled us in on what had probably happened and I just . . .”

Stiles nods in understanding, burying his fists in the back of Derek’s jacket. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“You scared the crap out of me,” the man admits, still not letting go. Like he’s afraid Stiles will leave again. He vows to himself that that will never happen. Not if he can help it, anyway.

“Where’s Kenny?” he asks then, missing her already. He just isn’t complete anymore without the both of them.

Derek finally lets go, at least enough to look at him. “Uhm, she’s resting. She’ll see you tomorrow.”

He nods. “Did you guys have a good Christmas?”

“We didn’t have one,” Derek frowns. “How could we?”

Stiles almost feels bad, but he really can’t keep the answering smile off his face. “Come here,” he sighs, drawing Derek back in and wrapping a hand in his perfectly soft hair, gently combing through it with his fingers.

“You know what?” he asks after a couple of minutes of just standing there. “We’re gonna have a fantastic one next year. I promise.”

He kisses the side of Derek’s head and the man pulls back again to face him, face utterly defeated and somewhat apologetic. His blood runs cold and internally, he is already denying what Derek is going to say next.

“We won’t have a next year.”

 

Bewaren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for violence, threats of death and captivity.


	11. The Gift of a Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~ Stiles arranges the perfect day for Kenny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost there you guys! I am going to try and finish this fic soon, end of January at the latest if everything goes according to plan.

  


 

**January & February**

It’s been about a week since he’s been back. He and everyone else act like nothing has changed, for Kenny’s sake, but in reality Stiles just wants to scream. She’s too young to die. And no parent should ever have to outlive their child. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go.

Unfortunately, if Kenny doesn’t receive a new heart soon, she won’t make the beginning of spring. Her heart just . . . _can’t_ anymore.

Stiles hasn’t seen Kenny yet since he’s been back. She’s been in the hospital and the first few days she was too tired for visitors other than Derek. He tries to be there for them though, in any way possible. It’s the least he can do for everything they’ve done for him. They made him a better person, in the end. Made him _want_ to be better. He sees Kenny as the little sister he never had, maybe even as his daughter in a way, although he’s only about ten years older than her. He cares a lot, is what he’s saying.

Hope isn’t lost yet, but it’s damn hard for him to remain positive throughout it all. He tries, though.

At the end of that first week, Deaton pays him a visit at the Hale house. He hands him an envelope and Stiles immediately recognizes it. He also knows that it isn’t another assignment from his mother.

“Where did you find this?” he asks with a frown.

“In your mother’s old vanity in the attic of your family’s estate,” the man answers. “Where you left it.”

He sighs. “My dad gave it to you, didn’t he?”

Deaton nods and even looks a little apologetic. “We both think you should read it. Now more than ever. It’s about time to remember your mother as the woman she was before she got sick, don’t you think?”

He grunts and takes the letter from him, briefly thanking the man before he goes upstairs to lock himself in his room for a while.

He sits with the envelope on his bed, contemplating if he should read it now. If he even wants to read it at all. He kind of does, though. His father is right, he should remember – he _wants_ to remember – his mother as she used to be when he was younger, not as the cold woman that replaced her when she got sick.

She left him this letter. His dad received a similar one, but of course he immediately read it. Unlike Stiles, who used to sit with it for hours, unable to open it. Eventually, he hid it in his mother’s vanity in the attic and forgot about it.

With a deep sigh, he opens it.

 

_My dear Stiles,_

_There is a chance that you will never forgive me and I don’t blame you for that. It’s also something I cannot do for myself. I love you and your father so much. It’s just, the pain_

He stops reading there and squeezes his eyes shut. He can’t do this right now. With everything that’s going on . . . it’s just not the time. He has more important things on his mind. He stands up and makes his way back downstairs, then asks Trevor if he can borrow his car.

“That depends,” the man tells him. “Where are you taking it?”

He sighs. “The hospital. Like I should have done the moment I found out she was there again.”

Trevor nods and gives him a tired smile. “Say hi to them for me, will ya?”

“Will do,” he promises as Trevor hands him the keys.

Soon enough, he’s standing in the open door to Kenny’s hospital room, knocking on it to announce his presence.

“Welcome back, stranger,” Kenny greets him, a bit sour. He can’t blame her.

“Hey,” he says, sharing a quick grin with Derek, who’s reading a book in a chair by the window. He walks over to her bed and sits down, leaning on one of his arms as he looks at her. He moves his other arm from behind his back and shows her the little doll he bought back at the airport. “Tada,” he jokes awkwardly. He knows it doesn’t make anything better, but he didn’t want to show up emptyhanded.

“Wow,” she deadpans. “An airport gift shop gift, how thoughtful.”

He chuckles. At least this part of her hasn’t changed.

“Does it come with needles?” she wonders aloud.

He shares a look with Derek and shakes his head, still grinning. She regards him for a while and sighs.

“Yeah, you can kiss me even though you’re a guy.”

He leans in with a smile and kisses her on the cheek, then leans back far enough so he can look her in the eyes.

“I missed you too,” he whispers.

“Whatever,” she says and Stiles raises an eyebrow. “Let’s cut to the chase. You really blew it this Christmas.”

“Wha – ,” he starts and feigns an indignant expression. “I was unavoidably detained.”

She hums. “Okay yeah, but I _want_ Christmas.” She catches him off guard when she fists a hand in his leather jacket, tugging him closer with surprising force. “I want to ride a horse.”

“Oh,” he nods, hiding his surprise. He thought she hated horses. “Well, I’ve got like a week or two left of this other thing, but let me make a few calls and I’ll – "

“Stiles,” she interrupts him forcefully. Her eyes are watery and pleading and he gulps, immediately feeling guilty at even suggesting to wait. “ _Now_.”

He nods and whispers: “Okay.”

 

* * *

 

Back at the Hales’, he calls Deaton.

“Look,” he tells him after he has greeted the man, “One way or another this thing is over. Either I was in South America way too long or I missed the deadline or whatever, but what I’m about to do is way more important and I know you have no reason whatsoever to trust me, but I need to borrow my family’s old carriage and snow machine.” He takes a breath. “And I need them now.”

He can hear Deaton’s silence on the other end of the line, so he quickly continues to explain.

“I want to take Derek and Kenny back to the Hale house for a late Christmas and it needs to be perfect.”

“Stiles,” the man finally speaks, “do you know what you’re doing? Look, I have no control – ”

There’s some hustling and then Morrell’s voice takes over. “What Mr Deaton was saying is that he’ll be sending your mother’s next letter as soon as possible and will arrange a snow machine and carriage to be at the Hales’. You be ready to receive the machine in an hour or so.”

“Thank you,” he breathes. “This means so much to me. And Deaton? I promise I will take back all those nasty thoughts I had about you being the Grinch. Thanks again, merry Christmas.”

He pockets his phone and turns to Derek, who had come back with him to arrange Kenny’s wish, while her grandparents stay with her at the hospital.

“Okay,” he says and claps his hands together. “We have until tomorrow to bring Christmas to this place, so let’s get a move on.”

Together with Derek’s siblings, they manage to turn the house into a Christmas Walhalla. There’s a Christmas tree in the living room plus every other decoration imaginable, including stockings. That’s just the beginning, though. The important parts are all outside. The porch is adorned with fairy lights, mistletoe hanging above the door. In front of the house is another large Christmas tree, which they’ll finish decorating the next day. Just before Kenny will come back to the house tomorrow, they’ll start the snow machine and create a true Christmas vibe. Stiles is sure it will be epic.

Now that they’re done for the day, Derek excuses himself to tend to the horses real quick, while his siblings gather in the cosy living room to watch a movie or something. Kaine is in bed already, though Laura said she’s sure that he’ll be awake for a while, too excited about having another Christmas.

Stiles himself goes outside to wait for the carriage that should arrive soon. It’s a beautiful old thing that has been in his family for ages, but they don’t really use it anymore. He thinks it will be great to decorate it a little and use it to drive Kenny around tomorrow, since he still doesn’t quite believe that she wants to ride a horse herself.

About an hour later, the carriage has arrived and he too is done for the day. He goes to his room to grab some sweatpants and a t-shirt to sleep in and makes his way to the upstairs bathroom for a shower. When he rounds the corner, he has a sense of déjà-vu as he runs into Derek, who has just come back from working with the horses.

“And so we meet again,” Stiles sighs dramatically, prompting a laugh from the other man. “You go first, since you’re all . . . sweaty and stuff.” Not that he isn’t appreciative of the sight, because damn. He’ll happily walk into Derek looking like this every day.

Derek looks at him for a moment, worrying at his lip with his teeth and just being very distracting in general.

“Or you could just join me?”

“Well,” he clears his throat and grins. “I can’t say no to that.”

He follows Derek into the bathroom, locking the door behind them. He panics for a moment when he realizes this will be the first time he’ll actually see Derek naked and vice versa. Not that he’s ashamed of his body or anything, not even close. It’s just . . . he’s new to doing this with a guy, is all.

“Stiles?” Derek inquires, sounding worried.

He turns around and gives the man a reassuring smile, shaking his head. “Sorry, I was just lost in my head for a sec.”

Derek smiles back at him and continues stripping and Stiles follows his lead. He expects there to be some initial awkwardness, but instead it just feels pleasantly domestic. He could get used to this. As he is pulling his shirt of, he hears more than sees Derek turning on the shower. When his vision is clear again, he’s presented with a very . . . enticing view. Derek is standing with his back to him, stepping under the spray of the shower and Stiles greedily takes in the shape of his broad shoulders, his waist, his firm ass that Stiles just wants to – ugh, his hairy legs that are still _doing_ things to him and all the way down to his feet.

He joins Derek in the shower and sighs as the warm water hits his skin. He shifts so he’s facing the man and Derek cups his cheek, putting their lips together. Stiles sighs into it. It’s sweet at first, standing there together naked under the warm spray, sharing soft, chaste kisses, soaping up each other’s hair and bodies.

After a while, their kisses grow less chaste and more drawn out and slow, tongues exploring the other’s mouth curiously. For some reason, even the simple act of kissing makes Stiles all warm inside and so it doesn’t really come as a surprise to him when he feels his dick twitch and stand to attention.

What _does_ manage to surprise him is that Derek – or more specifically Derek’s dick – is doing the same. Still though, he doesn’t feel weird or awkward about it. Instead, he tightens his arms around the man, moaning softly when Derek rolls his hips against his, his hands finding Stiles’ ass and squeezing.

One of Derek’s hands trails back up his back, over his shoulder and down his chest, then slowly moves down Stiles’ stomach, about to wrap a hand around them both, when there’s rapid knocking on the bathroom door, startling them apart.

“Make it a quickie or something boys, I want a shower before I go to bed!” Laura yells through the closed door.

“What’s a quickie, Mommy?” Kaine asks innocently and Derek’s head drops to Stiles’ shoulder to hide both his embarrassment and laughter.

“Finish it!” Laura calls again, before hers and Kaine’s voices travel farther down the hall until they are out of earshot entirely.

 

* * *

 

He and Derek pick Kenny up from the hospital the next day after dinner. As they ride in the car back to the farm they sing Christmas songs and Kenny doesn’t seem to be able to stop smiling. Stiles himself can’t stop the grin on his face, happy that he is able to do this for her. When they reach the house, Derek parks the car and Stiles gets out, calling out to Ray as the man appears on the front porch.

“Hey Ray! What is this, snow in Texas?”

He spreads his arms, gesturing at the white front yard, complete with adorned Christmas tree and snowman. He thinks it turned out pretty perfect.

“Ho, ho, ho,” the man exclaims as he descends the porch steps, beaming at them. “Hit it, Trev!”

A second later the front yard and porch light up in a wild variety of Christmas lights in different colours. Kenny gasps and he smiles, looking down at her.

“Merry Christmas, Sunshine,” Ray says as he reaches them, squatting down to give his granddaughter a hug. She hugs him back and Ray gets their bags from the car after she lets him go. Kenny is looking at the snowy scene in front of her, eyes wide and awed as she takes a few steps forward until she’s standing in the snow.

“It’s perfect,” Derek says softly and Stiles looks at him.

“It really is,” he sighs, wrapping his arms around the man and hooking his chin on his shoulder. “Tomorrow will be as well. Kenny said she wants to go horseback riding with you.”

Derek frowns. “What?”

“A long ride with the horses, like you used to do when she was younger? That’s what she told me anyway.”

The man lets out a soft chuckle, his eyes watering.

“What?” Stiles asks softly. “What is it?”

“She’s terrified of horses,” he explains, shaking his head in disbelief. “I’m the one who loves horses. I used to ride all the time before her hospital visits became so frequent.”

Stiles tightens his arms around him and kisses his cheek, humming. “I figured. That’s why I wanted the carriage here. That way you’ll both enjoy the experience.”

“Thank you,” he says and turns his head for a proper kiss.

The following day they go out early, just like Derek used to do. The early morning is beautiful as they ride out to the open fields, the Hale land stretching out before them as far as they can see. So beautiful in fact, that Stiles almost forgets that he’s still kind of scared of the horses. Derek helps to keep him and the horses calm, though and Stiles has to admit it’s going a lot better than the last time he did this.

Kenny and Kaine are riding in the carriage with Talia, while Ray leads the two horses in front of it. He can see her smiling broadly through the little window on the side of the carriage, taking in the scenery around her.

Derek leads them to a small lake, cattle grazing around it lazily as they watch from afar. Looking at this, Stiles thinks he gets why Derek and his family love it so much here and on the farm. The peace and quiet, the undeniable beauty of it all, the sense of freedom . . . that just isn’t something you’ll ever find in a city.

“Come on,” Stiles says, dismounting his horse. “I want to show you something.”

Derek gets off his horse as well and takes the hand Stiles offers him, quirking an eyebrow in question. Stiles just smiles and intertwines their fingers, leading him away from the carriage and their horses to look at the landscape in front of them.

“Derek, there is something I need to do,” he says in a serious tone. “For Kenny.”

He leans forward and closes the distance between them, capturing Derek’s mouth in a kiss. It isn’t their first and won’t be their last, but Kenny made him promise to make Derek smile today and this is a perfect way to do it according to her. Stiles doesn’t disagree. He doesn’t even feel awkward doing it in front of Derek’s parents. He freaking loves this man and he’s gonna damn well show it.

“And now for me,” he grins and goes in for another kiss, interrupting Derek’s chuckle. They break apart again and he pretends to think for a moment, then continues his list; “And Ray . . .”

Later that night, they have an incredible Christmas dinner. Everybody eats themselves into a slight food coma and slumps on the couch afterwards, too tired to do much else than watch a movie. Kenny sneaks outside to the front yard, though and Stiles can’t keep himself from following after her. He sits down on the rocking chair on the porch, watching her walk across the snow and tilt her head up to the stars.

He startles when the door opens behind him. Ray steps out with an envelope in his hand and Stiles sighs. He almost forgot about it, but he actually does want to finish his mother’s assignments. He came this far, he really wants to finish it.

He thanks Ray and watches him go back inside, then looks at the envelope in his hands for a minute before he opens it.

 

_My dear Stiles,_

_When I achieved my dreams it was like going home to a place I’d never been before. You don’t know that feeling, do you? The first few gifts I have given you have been practical. Show up, do this, do that. But then the gifts started needing you to provide input. They needed intuition. Still, your average person is too weighted down._

_Stiles, you need to be free. Free to dream. You need to come up with a dream and act on it. Honey, this is the time for you to dream._

_~ Your mom_

He sighs and frowns at her change in language. She almost sounds like the person she used to be before, his actual mom. Still, he isn’t quite ready to forgive and forget entirely. He leaves the letter on the chair and stands up, walking over to Kenny, who’s standing in the middle of the snowy yard and still looking up at the starry sky.

“Are you thinking about butterflies?” he asks softly. He doesn’t want to say words like ‘dying’ out loud to her, so he figures this way might be better. Somewhat, at least.

She sighs. “No Stiles, I’m looking at the stars.”

“You know,” he says as he squats down next to her, “I set this whole thing up because I thought _you_ wanted to go horseback riding. Not your dad.” It’s not entirely true, but he is legitimately curious about why she pretended to want this.

“Get real,” she says without taking her eyes off the stars. “Horses are smelly and sweaty.”

He huffs out a laugh and slightly tilts his head to the side. “So sweetie what’s _your_ dream? If you could dream of anything, _anything_ . . . what would your dream be?”

“My dream . . . my dream was a perfect day,” she says with a deep breath, finally looking at him. “And I’m just finishing it. My dream was to be with people I love. Who love each other. Who love me.”

When she ends her eyes are wet and she moves towards him tentatively. He opens his arms for her and she immediately throws her arms around his neck, burying her head into it to hide her tears. He lifts her up and stands upright again, holding onto her tightly. He kisses her cheek and carries her back to the house.

About an hour later they’re sitting on the couch together, both of them wearing a Christmas hat. Laura and Ryan are doing the dishes while the rest of the family is still watching the movie on the TV.

“What about you, Stiles?” she asks him suddenly. “What’s your dream?”

He sighs deeply. “I don’t know. For as long as I can remember all I wanted to do was have fun. Now I don’t have a clue.”

“It’s okay,” she says solemnly. “Guys are clueless.”

He snorts, unable to help himself.

“Hey,” she murmurs, “you have to know this. Even if you don’t have a dream of your own, you gave me mine. That counts for something.”

He kisses her temple and leans his head on top of hers. “Of course.”

Her gaze shifts to the front of the room and he follows her eyes, landing on where Derek is sitting on the couch, Cora and Trevor on either side of him and all of them wrapped under a worn blanket. Derek is smiling at something that happened on screen.

“Look at him,” she sighs. “Isn’t he beautiful? I mean, except for his choice in socks.” Stiles chuckles as he spots the man’s socks, red with green polka dots, peeking out from under the blanket. “But you have to admit, even if you got nothing else out of this deal than him, you’d still be a huge winner.”

Derek looks up then, catching his eyes and they share a smile. Kenny gets his attention back by putting a hand on his shoulder and pinning him to the couch. “Don’t blow it,” she warns him, pointing a finger in his face. “Knowing you, you’re likely to do it.”

He sighs, not really having a response for that.

“Merry Christmas, Stiles,” she whispers, kissing his cheek. He smiles and runs his finger down her nose affectionately.

“Merry Christmas.”

 

 

Bewaren


	12. The Gift of Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~ Stiles must have dreams for the future ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year to all you lovely people! Let's celebrate with a new chapter and hope that I can stick to my plan to finish this by the end of the month :)

 

**March & beginning of April**

 

A few weeks have passed since ‘Christmas’. Kenny is staying at the hospital so they can monitor her night and day. She’s doing fine, though. Considering. Derek too, mostly. But Stiles doesn’t like the thought of the man being alone right now. And he’s pretty sure Derek feels the same.

In any case, Stiles is staying with him at Derek’s apartment in town while Kenny is in the hospital. They’ve fallen into a routine of domesticity and visiting Kenny and Stiles likes it. Likes that he can be there for the man.

There has also been a lot more touching since their little interrupted make-out session in the shower a couple weeks ago. Never more than that, though. Until now, hopefully.

Derek’s in the bedroom, watching TV while he waits for Stiles to come back from his shower. Stiles showered thoroughly. He feels ready. He _wants_.

He walks into the bedroom with just a towel around his waist. He grins when he catches Derek ogling him, his eyes slowly trailing up and down his body.

“See something you like?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows teasingly.

Derek grins and hums, opening his arms in invitation. “Come here.”

Stiles happily joins him on the bed, revelling in the feeling of Derek holding him in his arms, kissing him. Touching him, soon after. Warm hands sliding under his towel to cup his ass. Stiles chuckles and breaks the kiss, leaning away a bit.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” he grumbles good-naturedly.

Derek huffs. “So do something about it.”

Well, he doesn’t need to be told twice. He doesn’t waste any time removing the man’s clothes and hums happily when they’re both naked.

“There, much better.”

Derek agrees and moves to his neck, leaving kisses, while one of his hands trails a pattern down his spine until it has reached his ass, boldly tracing a finger around his hole.

Stiles stills noticeably, suddenly realizing where this is going. Derek leans back and looks at him curiously.

“You’re not a virgin, are you?”

Stiles scoffs. “Not quite, but that doesn’t mean I’ve done anything with a guy before.”

Derek nods then, contemplative. “You wanna be on top?”

He’s stunned for a minute, surprised that that’s even an option. Eventually he finds his voice again and huffs. “Just get in me already.”

The man chuckles and starts trailing kisses along Stiles’ throat again, stopping at his ear.

“How about I open you up first?” he whispers and Stiles shudders, both from the words and Derek’s breath tickling his ear.

“Y-Yeah, that – you should do that.”

Derek pecks him on the lips and huffs out another laugh. “Turn over.”

Stiles goes willingly, turning on his stomach and lifting his hips up so Derek can put a pillow under them. He blushes at the new position, ass presented to Derek, his body thrumming with anticipation.

“Breathe, Stiles,” the man reminds him, playfully smacking one of his ass-cheeks. He gasps, dick twitching. Huh, the things you learn. He buries his head in a pillow, sighing contentedly when Derek starts massaging his ass-cheeks. It’s so relaxing that he fails to anticipate the man’s next move, letting out a surprised moan when he feels Derek’s tongue on his hole.

“Oh God,” he breathes, voice embarrassingly high.

Derek chuckles again and moves lower, using his mouth to play with Stiles’ balls for a bit before licking back up to his hole.

“This okay?” he asks.

Stiles moans, nodding fervently. “So fucking okay, Derek.”

“Good,” he says and goes back to ruining Stiles with his perfect mouth. When Stiles has reached the point where he’s unashamedly pushing his ass back against Derek’s face in a silent plea for more, Derek finally gets the lube and slowly pushes a finger inside. Stiles breathes through the initial burn and it quickly changes into pleasure, making Derek add another finger.

When he’s loose enough, Derek lightly smacks his cheek once more and manhandles him back around so that he’s lying on his back again. He then proceeds to kiss a trail up Stiles’ body until he finally reaches his mouth.

Stiles wraps his arms around the man’s shoulders and kisses him, deep and slow. He sighs when they break apart, smiling up at the man. Derek smiles back and gives him a few chaste kisses, then reaches over to the bedside table for a condom.

“Can I?” Stiles asks, nodding his head at the condom.

Derek grins and sits back on his haunches from his position between Stiles’ legs. “Sure.”

He takes the condom and makes quick work of opening it and rolling it on Derek’s dick, unable to stop himself from giving it a few strokes. Judging by the look of pleasure on the man’s face, he doesn’t mind at all.

Derek moves back on top of him and positions himself. Stiles can feel the head of his dick nudging his entrance and bites his lip, trying to keep his body relaxed.

“Let me know if you need me to slow down or something, okay?” Derek tells him and he nods.

Then, finally, Derek pushes inside of him. It burns initially and he hisses softly, but doesn’t ask Derek to slow down. The man is being gentle with him as it is and he really appreciates it. The feeling of Derek’s dick inside of him is foreign, but not bad. Especially when he’s all the way inside and his body has adjusted to it, the foreign feeling turns into intense pleasure. It feels amazing.

“Move,” he huffs, wrapping his legs around Derek and squeezing to spur him on.

“Bossy,” Derek laughs, but he starts moving his hips all the same.

Stiles chuckles and wraps his arms around him, one of his hands curling in Derek’s hair to tug him down into a kiss. God, he never would have imagined sex with a man could feel this good. Or maybe it’s just sex with Derek.

When Derek’s dick grazes a certain spot inside him, his thoughts jump back to the present and he moans loudly.

“ _Fuck_ , right there.”

Derek complies and shifts from leaning on his elbows to his arms, changing the angle and hitting that spot with every other thrust, hips moving faster as he nears his climax.

The moment Derek starts jerking Stiles off in tandem with his thrusts, Stiles is gone for. Seconds later he’s moaning in ecstasy, coming all over his chest and stomach, Derek’s name on his lips. It doesn’t take Derek long to follow after him and Stiles lets out a shuddering breath when he feels Derek tense and come inside of him.

Derek pulls out and rolls to the side, both of them panting harshly as they stare at the ceiling.

“Wow,” Stiles sighs after what could be seconds or minutes.

The man agrees with a chuckle. Then Derek gets up to dispose of the condom and get a washcloth for Stiles, gently cleaning him up.

He gives the man a dopey smile. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” Derek whispers, leaning in for another kiss.

 

* * *

 

 

Around the end of March, Stiles has to present for the board of Deaton’s law firm. The same company his mother used to do business with. Or co-owned. He isn’t even sure anymore. Doesn’t matter anyway. What _does_ matter, is whether they agree that he fulfilled all of his mother’s tasks.

Because he finally found his own dream. Kind of. Enough to do something with this idea in his head, anyway. He just hopes it is enough to complete the Gift of Dreams.

“Up until now I’ve only existed,” he starts as he’s standing before them, at the other end of the table. Dressed in a suit and looking like the businessman he never wanted to be. Until now, that is. It might be useful to earn a college degree in business after this, but he’ll work on that when they’ve accepted his proposal.

“I have, uhm . . . I’ve drifted through life, day to day, thinking that _that_ was enough. And honestly I don’t know if I have my own dream. But I do know that I can help others fulfil theirs. I know it.”

He looks at Deaton, who is looking back at him and doesn’t seem all that impressed. The man glances at his associates for a moment, before addressing him.

“Stiles, will you excuse us for a few minutes?”

He nods and exits the room in silence. There’s a waiting area with expensive-looking chairs, but he is too agitated to make himself sit down. Instead, he opts to pace up and down in front of the reception desk at the other side of the room.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed when Morrell comes to lead him back to the room. She’s smiling gently at him, but then again she’s always been more friendly with him than Deaton, so that doesn’t have to mean anything.

When he’s back inside the room, he stands at his previous position at the end of the table, looking questioningly at Deaton, sitting stoically in his swivel chair while the associates stand behind him.

“Stiles, we have deliberated and evaluated whether or not your answer conforms with the express desires of your mother, Claudia Stilinski. And we found that your answer does. Therefore we’re releasing the amount allocated for you at this time.”

The man next to Deaton hands him a cheque. Deaton stands up and holds it out to Stiles.

“This is 100 million dollars to do with whatever you please.”

Stiles takes it from him, not sure about the different feelings coursing through him.

“That being said, I want to congratulate you Stiles,” Deaton continues. “For sticking it out. For ending up in some very hard conditions and prevailing. Congratulations, Stiles.”

They all clap for him and he smiles just a little, mostly from relief. He’s finally done. He beat his mother in her stupid game. He has to admit Kenny was right, though. He did get some pretty amazing things out of this deal. He got to know her, and Derek and their family. But, and this may be even more important, he got to know himself.

“So that’s it?” he asks, a bit disappointed as he looks at the piece of paper in his hands. Not because he expected more money or anything. He just expected . . . more.

“Yes, I think so,” Deaton nods, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t get me wrong, it’s not the amount,” he clarifies, just to be sure. “It’s uh . . . it’s just . . . I don’t know, I was expecting a different feeling, or . . . something,” he chuckles without humor.

Morrell lays a hand on his shoulder, smiling again. “I think that’s because now, _you_ are a different person.”

He smiles back at her, looking at Deaton when the man speaks up with amusement in his tone.

“And no, we won’t cash that cheque for you.”

That, finally, makes him laugh with the rest of them.

 

* * *

 

“Okay, so he is the best architect in town, that’s great. Tell him I want a meeting with him first thing Monday morning.”

It’s the first week of April and Stiles is making phone calls. A lot of them. He does have a dream, and he’s doing everything he can to realize it as soon as possible.

And he’s doing it from his loft apartment in the city. The same city that happens to be near the town Derek lives in. Back in Texas. He thought about buying one back home, to spend more time with his dad and all, but the thought of being so far away from Derek and Kenny didn’t sit right with him at all. And to be honest, Texas has kind of become home.

“Uhu, that’s amazing,” Stiles agrees in yet another phone call. “We’ll have a meeting at the bank in let’s say what, a month?”

His doorbell rings as he ends the call and he quickly disposes of the takeout containers littering his desk. He’s been busy, okay?

He moves over to the door, ready to open it with a smile, expecting Derek. It’s not, though. Very far from it.

“I like your new place,” Malia says as she brushes past him into the loft without invitation, looking around her. “Didn’t expect you to stay here in Texas. What have you been doing here all this time?”

“Been in and out of prison,” he jokes and shrugs, not sure what to make of her being here.

She hums. “Good to here.” She looks him up and down. “No visible tattoos,” she trails off, eyeing him with a coy expression that used to drive him crazy. “I missed you.”

“Hm,” he nods, still kind of awkward.

Her eyes fall on his desk then, full with random documents and other stuff.

“What’s this?” she asks, picking up a familiar slip of paper and Stiles immediately tries to grab it back, but she holds it out of his reach, eyes questioning.

“It’s nothing,” he tries quickly, but it’s already too late. He can see in her eyes that she knows what it is.

“That’s a nice round number,” she muses, looking from him to the cheque. The cheque he still hasn’t cashed in. “Somehow I think you won’t be having any more credit card problems, will you?” She chuckles. “Now you, mister, still owe me a dinner.”

“Right,” he sighs. “How could I forget?”

“I really missed you,” she says and before he knows it she’s given him a kiss on the lips. She’s acting like nothing happened, like they’re still together, and Stiles seriously can’t with her right now.

“I think I can find my way to the bedroom,” she says and strides away on her stiletto heels. Stiles shakes his head, baffled. He really doesn’t get how she can act this way. His eyes fall on the cheque then, and he holds in a groan. Never mind.

He gets his phone from his pocket to check the time and his eyes linger on his lock screen, displaying a photo of him, Derek and Kenny from their impromptu Christmas. He pockets his phone again and doesn’t waste another second, grabbing his keys and wallet, and heads out, leaving Malia behind in the apartment. He’s sure she’ll take the hint.

 

* * *

 

Well, today is the day. He’s going to realize his dream. Hopefully. It completely depends on how his presentation goes. All his phone calls and hard work of the past weeks have come down to this. One moment. One chance to convince these people that making a business deal with him is a great idea.

He takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders and enters the tall building, arms filled with the things he needs for his presentation.

He steps into the elevator and pushes the button for the sixth floor, then enters the spacious lobby where the first people he invited have already gathered. He walks up to them, hoping he looks confident instead of like the nervous wreck he feels inside. A couple of minutes later Deaton and Morrell walk in and he greets them with a pleasant smile.

“Hello Mr Deaton, Ms Morrell. I’m so glad you could come.”

“Stiles,” Morrell nods, smiling back in confusion. “What’s going on?”

He gestures to the chairs behind him. “Have a seat, please.”

He checks his watch, looking at the door again. The people in the room are keeping each other entertained for now, so he figures he can leave the room for a minute to call Derek to ask him where he is. Because there’s no way he’s doing this without him here.

He’s back at the elevator, waiting for it to open, but when it does Derek is standing inside.

“There you are,” he smiles in relief.

Derek gives him a quick kiss and walks back with him to the lobby. “Sorry I’m late, I couldn’t find a parking spot.”

“It’s fine, you’re here now.”

Stiles addresses the people waiting for him and leads them all to a conference room, making sure they’re all seated before he begins. Derek isn’t sitting at the table with the business people, but in a chair by the corner, offering silent support.

He quickly sets up the few things he brought with him and takes a moment to brace himself, straightening his suit. He looks up and smiles.

“Thank you all for joining me today,” he says warmly. “May I direct your attention to . . .”

He reveals a large picture with a detailed colour-sketch of a beautiful building. The building he wants to build, that is.

“It’s called _Kenny’s Home_ ,” he continues, sharing a look with Derek. “It’s for a dozen or more families experiencing extraordinary health challenges. Now, over here . . .” he says, moving to a new picture, drawn in just as much detail. “This is what the homes will look like. They’re part of the same complex, yet individual dwellings. Families are going to be able to live together while they face their problems.”

Deaton is looking thoroughly impressed, while Morrell just smiles in delight, clearly on board with his idea. The other businesspeople seem to be interested as well, and he can feel himself becoming more passionate in his speech by the second. Especially when he looks at Derek, who is looking at him with the fondest expression Stiles has ever seen on him.

“Now,” he goes on, revealing yet another sketch. “Obviously there’s going to be plenty of parking. Over here is going to be a state of the art employment centre. Catering to parents, single or married, who need to earn some sort of income while their child undergoes treatment. And finally a church,” he smiles softly. “A worship centre.”

“How much is this going to cost?” one of the businessmen asks.

“If you’ll look at the papers in front of you, page five,” he directs. “The total initial I need to start is 350 million dollars. Your part will be to underwrite the financing and a loan guarantee of 250 million. I’m gonna be putting up the first 100 million from my own money.”

“Mr Stilinski,” one of them starts, “This is all well and fine, but we did business with your mother for many years – ”

“Excuse me,” Stiles interrupts him, laying his hands flat on the table and leaning on them as he looks at the man. “I’m sorry for interrupting, but I didn’t phrase this as a question.”

He knows he’s being incredibly bold right now, but hey, if there is anything he learned from his mother, it’s that he needs to go big or go home.

“You _are_ going to do this. You made this much off my mother in a typical year.”

That leaves them stunned, sharing a look with each other, but no one denies it. He can hear a cell phone ringing, but Deaton speaks up before he can pinpoint where it’s coming from.

“Gentlemen, this project has the full resources of the Deaton Law firm backing it,” the man says, sharing a grin with Stiles. “Pro bono, as I am sure you will be too.”

Stiles looks gleefully at the rest of the men at the table, but his smile falters when Derek hastily grabs his things, ending a call in hushed tones as he stands up. Their eyes lock and Stiles’ breath hitches at the haunted look in Derek’s eyes.

“Wrap up the details for me, will you Deaton?” he asks the man, who nods. “Thank you all, I appreciate it.”

Then he quickly follows Derek outside, running to catch up to him. He expects Derek to be at the elevator, but he’s not. Instead, he’s just in time to see the door to the staircase fall shut. He rushes to the stairs instead and looks down to see if the man is still even there. He is, but he’s descending the stairs two at a time in his haste.

“Derek!” he calls down after him.

The man looks up briefly, but doesn’t slow down.

“I’m sorry!” he yells back. “It’s Kenny. I need to – .”

He doesn’t even finish his sentence, but he doesn’t have to. He gets it. And his world just . . . stops.

 

_Kenny . . ._

 

 

 

Bewaren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, I'm really ending this chapter here ^^  
> Also thank you to everyone who has subscribed to me since last chapter! You're all amazing. I didn't really get any prompts for new fics from you guys though, so I'm going to abandon that idea for now ;) I will see you soon for the end of this fic!


	13. The Gift of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~ Stiles learns to love unconditionally ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this is the point where I’m going to let you choose your preferred ending. I couldn’t decide what ending I wanted myself, so I just went ahead and wrote them both! I didn’t tag it because I didn’t want to spoil anything, but something drastic happens to Kenny and you can choose if you want to read the sad ending with all the feels (this chapter, might be triggering for some people) or the happy ending for everyone (next chapter). The major plot points will be the same, only Kenny’s fate is different. Of course you can also choose to read them both, but I just wanted to warn you guys :)
> 
> Alright then . . . time to face the music folks.

 

**April**

 

When Stiles is able to pull himself out of the dark and gloomy mess his mind currently consists of, he realizes that he’s frozen. He’s just standing there, at the top of multiple flights of stairs. The sudden ‘bang’ of the door downstairs shakes him and he finally remembers how to move.

“Derek wait!”, he calls, but knows it’s futile.

He races down the steps, trying to catch up with Derek, though the man is probably long gone by now. Reaching the ground floor, he barges through the door and into the lobby. When there’s no sign of Derek, he runs outside, just in time to see Derek climb into a cab and speed off.

“ _Damn it_ ,” he curses.

He runs a shaky hand through his hair, trying to figure out what the hell to do now. Everything inside him is screaming to follow Derek, to be there for him. To be there for Kenny, if she’s even –

He cuts that thought off real quickly and fishes in his pocket for his car keys. He doesn’t know if Derek wants him there with him right now, but Stiles isn’t just going to stay here and wait for news. There’s just no way. He rushes to the parking lot and gets inside his car, speeding to the hospital soon after.

He’s aware that he’s probably breaking quite a few traffic laws right now, but he honestly couldn’t care less. He _needs_ to get to that hospital. His mind keeps flashing back to Derek while he drives. To how crushed he looked. How panicked. How _defeated_. His hands tighten on the steering wheel and he prays to the God he doesn’t believe in.

Prays that it isn’t _too late_.

 

* * *

 

 

He parks his car and barely spares a second to lock the damn thing. His heart is racing, his mind one giant mess of scary thoughts, drowning out everything else. He’s running, literally slamming through the hospital’s entrance without a single thought spared for the people around.

He has single-minded focus on getting to Kenny. He doesn’t stop at the desk at the front, knowing already where to go. Like Derek had earlier, he foregoes the elevators and races to the stairs, taking them two at a time in his rush to get to the little girl’s hospital room.

When he finally reaches the right floor, he throws the door open and stumbles into the hallway, quickly righting himself and running the last few steps to reach the room. His heartbeat is pounding in his ears so loudly that he almost misses the sound of crying from inside.

. . . Almost.

He skids to a halt as he reaches the door, his face crumbling as his eyes fall on the crying man sitting inside the room, head buried in his hands and his slumped shoulders heaving from the wrecked sobs he is unable to hold back.

Stiles stumbles back into the hall, knees almost giving out. He has to brace his hands on the wall to keep standing, his head spinning.

“No,” he whispers hoarsely, barely able to get it out. Just, no. She can’t – She can _not_ be –

Before he can stop himself, his hand has formed a fist and he lets out all his frustration as he punches the wall. He lets out a sob and wishes it was from the pain in his hand. He rests his head on the wall and takes a shaky breath, then steels himself and finally enters the room.

“Derek,” he speaks past the lump in his throat, voice cracking over the syllables.

The man walks over to him, doing his best to stop the tears for a few moments so he can talk. He shakes his head, his face a picture of grief and devastation.

“She wanted me to be there,” he whispers, fresh tears adding to the wet tracks on his face. “It was so important to her.”

Stiles doesn’t need Derek to say the words to know that he hadn’t been on time either. His face says more than enough. Neither of them was here. Neither of them made it in time. It’s almost impossible to stop himself from crying now, because he realizes that Kenny . . . their little girl died, and there was no one at her side while she passed.

“She wanted me to be there,” Derek whispers again, so broken, and all Stiles can do is hold on to him tightly when Derek falls into his arms, finally giving in to the sobs again.

Stiles holds him and cries.

 

* * *

 

 

The weeks after that are empty. Painful. Stiles thinks there shouldn’t be a single tear left in his body, but he still cries. If time heals all wounds, he wishes his time was up already. He still feels guilty. Derek keeps telling him that it wasn’t his fault, but if he hadn’t asked Derek to be there for his stupid business meeting, Derek would have been with Kenny. Her father wasn’t there to hold her hand and it’s all Stiles’ fault. Derek didn’t even get to give her a proper goodbye.

Instead of wallowing in his self-hatred, he throws himself into making sure Kenny’s funeral will be perfect. They’ve started building _Kenny’s Home_ recently as well and he’s happy to have work on his hands.

Derek refuses to put any blame on him, and makes sure they talk every day. If not in person, then on the phone. Stiles is thankful, he’s so fucking thankful that he hasn’t lost Derek too, but he just needs some time to grief in his own way, he thinks.

Derek divides his time between his family and Stiles. None of his family members blame Stiles either, but Stiles hasn’t gone back to see them all the same. Like he said, he needs his space right now.

Sometimes, when Stiles doesn’t pick up the phone in the evening because he is too busy working, Derek will come over and literally drag him away from his desk. They’ll watch a movie together on the couch or in bed, snuggled up close to each other. Stiles treasures those moments.

Kenny’s funeral, when it comes, is beautiful and intimate. It’s a sunny day and Stiles can’t help but think that it’s her way of telling them all to stop sulking already.

Even though he knew the Hales weren’t mad at him, he is still surprised when they all greet him with a tight hug. He picks Kaine up when the little guy asks him to and melts a bit when he puts his arms around Stiles’ neck and squeezes with all the power a five-year-old can muster.

“I missed you,” Kaine mumbles into his neck.

“Sorry buddy,” he says, moving his hand up and down the kid’s back soothingly. “I promise I’ll come by more often, okay?”

Kaine nods and Stiles puts him on the ground again. Trevor is the last to wrap him in a hug and the man briefly puts a gentle hand on the back of Stiles’ neck. It’s unexpectedly comforting.

“Thanks, kiddo,” he says before letting go and joining his family again.

Stiles walks back to Derek’s side and takes his hand in his own, squeezing reassuringly. They’ll get through this. It will take time, and there is no doubt it won’t be easy, but they will be alright in the end.

When Derek lets out a wet chuckle, Stiles sends him a questioning look. Derek points at a lone butterfly fluttering nearby and Stiles chokes up all over again, remembering his conversation with Kenny about butterflies in heaven. He really hopes there are lots of butterflies, wherever she is, just like she hoped.

Later that week, the two of them are sitting on a bench in the park. The very same bench where they first met. It seems so long ago now, even though it hasn’t even been a year.

“I’m sorry for being so distant lately,” Stiles says, eyes on the fountain a little way in front of them.

“Would you stop apologizing already?”

“Sorry.”

Derek flicks his ear teasingly and Stiles huffs out a laugh.

“It’s just, she was your daughter, you know? I should be taking care of you instead of the other way around.”

“You have, though,” the man says, taking Stiles’ hand so he can intertwine their fingers. “You arranged the funeral pretty much on your own so that me and my family could grief. You didn’t leave me, even though I’m sure the thought crossed your mind, convincing yourself I deserve better.”

He frowns lightly. “I’d never leave you.”

Derek’s face softens. “I know.”

They’re silent for a minute. Stiles looks to the side and sees that Derek’s eyes are already on him. So fond. So beautiful.

“I love you, Derek.”

The man smiles. “I know.”

Stiles huffs and goes in for a kiss, then leans their foreheads together.

“I love you, too,” Derek whispers, gently rubbing their noses together. Stiles kisses him again and sighs.

Yeah, they’ll be alright.

 

* * *

 

 

It has been a few months and he and Derek slowly but surely return to their normal lives. God knows there is a Kenny-shaped hole in both of their hearts, but they still have each other to get through it. Not to forget the little girl, never forget, but to come to terms with the fact that she isn’t with them anymore. Derek especially has to figure out what he wants to do with his life now that she’s gone. For so long, his world had revolved around his daughter, so Stiles can only imagine how hard it must be for him to move on with his life.

They have both been looking forward to today, though. Stiles had pushed and used all his resources to make sure it would be done as fast as possible, and today he and everyone else who shows up can finally see the end result.

It’s the official opening of Kenny’s Home.

They all stand outside, on the green lawn in front of the finished building, standing proud and beautiful in front of them. He and Derek are there, along with Derek’s family. The new staff, and a couple of the business people he worked with to get the project off the ground. Random people who were interested and decided to show up, and even the press, news reporters and the mayor are present.

The man stands in front of them now, making a short speech before he officially opens Kenny’s Home.

“As mayor of our beautiful town, it is my extreme honour and privilege to preside over the ground-breaking for Kenny’s Home. But it is also a sad day, in that the namesake and the inspiration for this incredible project, is not here with us today. But her spirit will always be with us all.”

The mayor takes the shovel that’s handed to him and motions for Stiles and Derek to join him in front of the small crowd.

“Derek, Stiles,” he says and finally puts his foot on the shovel so that it sinks into the earth beneath it, making the opening official.

The people around them applaud as they shake hands with the mayor. Stiles even catches a glimpse of Deaton and Morrell, also clapping and giving him proud little smiles.

After he and Derek have shaken hands with everyone, Deaton walks up to him. Stiles expects another handshake, but the man surprises him by smirking and going in for a hug. Stiles returns it a bit awkwardly.

“I am so proud of the man you’ve become,” Deaton tells him when they’re not hugging anymore.

“Thanks in great part to you,” he admits.

Deaton nods. “Meet me at my office here in town as soon as possible, will you? I have one more matter I need to discuss.”

“Of course,” Stiles agrees with a small frown. He didn’t know the man had an office here, but it certainly explains how he shows up so quickly all the time.

“Do you like it?” he asks Derek, who is staring at the building in awe.

“Love it,” he says. “How could I not?”

“You think Kenny would have liked it?”

Derek sighs and smiles. “Absolutely.”

He visits Deaton at his office the very next day. His secretary leads him to a conference room and Deaton asks Morrell to show everyone out when Stiles enters. He takes a seat next to the man and waits expectantly for him to start talking.

The man regards him for a moment, then finally opens his mouth to speak. “Stiles, if you made it this far, you’re mother left you one final message.”

He nods to a door in the corner and Stiles stands up to go over there, entering the room behind it. It looks like a recording room of some sort; dark, with various types of equipment standing around. There is a chair standing in the middle of it all, a small lamp on a side table offering the only light in the room.

A little wary, he takes a seat. The screen in front of him, which he had failed to notice until now, jumps on and starts projecting a video.

Of his mother.

The sight of his mother takes him completely by surprise, a lump rising in his throat. In the video, she’s sitting in the same chair he is sitting now, in this same room. But she isn’t wearing a suit, like the woman he remembers. She’s wearing simple jeans and a soft-looking jumper.

The last time Stiles saw her like that feels like a lifetime ago.

That, _that_ woman is his mother. All the fight drains out of him at the mere sight of her and he is powerless to fight to wobbly smile on his lips. God, he missed her.

“Stiles,” she says and smiles back at him. It’s almost as if she’s here, sitting in front of him as they have a conversation that is probably long overdue.

“Yeah,” he breathes, unable to say anything else.

“Honey, if you’re standing here now it means that, not only have you succeeded receiving all of my gifts, but have done so beyond the boundaries that I have said. I guess that means that I have succeeded as well.”

His mother takes a deep breath and it looks like she’s swallowing a lump in her throat. Stiles tries to do the same, but doesn’t have much success.

“What I could not accomplish in life,” his mom continues, “I’ve hopefully done in death. Knowing that I won’t get the chance to see you grow up . . . Looking back, there are a lot of things I should have done differently. I failed you as a mother. I failed to teach you the important things in life. So I hope,” she takes a deep breath again, eyes watery. “I hope that with my gifts, I still taught you. I must have, if you’ve come this far and Stiles, I am _so_ proud of you. I love you, baby.”

“I love you, too,” he whispers, voice thick.

His mom nods and sends him a watery smile. “Goodbye Stiles.”

The screen stops projecting the video and Stiles stares blankly ahead. He takes a couple of deep breaths, just sitting there. All the anger he had felt towards her for so long, all the pent up frustration . . . he can finally let go of it now. He’s done with it. He’ll remember this woman, the mother he had before money started ruling their lives, and move on.

He exits the room and joins Deaton and Morrell in the conference room, taking a seat at the table again. Deaton presents him with a box. The man opens it and takes a folded paper out of it. He unfolds it and clears his throat, while Stiles just closes his eyes so he can listen to whatever it is he has to in order to finish things here.

“As executor of the estate of Claudia Stilinski, I hereby execute and otherwise assign complete and controlling interest to Stiles Stilinski.”

His eyes snap open and he whips his head to the side in astonishment. There’s no way he heard that right.

“The bounds of Claudia’s estate,” Deaton continues. “Including all holdings and investments portfolio and offshore interests, totalling an excess of two billion dollars.”

Stiles can’t breathe.

Deaton smirks. “Depending on currency fluctuations and things like that, of course.”

He buries his face in his hands. He’s a freaking _billionaire_.

And he has _no clue_ what the hell to do with such an insane amount of money.

Later that night, he meets up with Derek in the park. Stiles is already sitting on their bench when Derek walks up and joins him.

“Hi,” Derek greets him tentatively.

“Hey,” Stiles mumbles, tilting his head to the sky and staring at the stars for a bit. He wonders if they’re out there, keeping an eye on them. Kenny. His mother. Would be nice, he thinks. Still looking up, he says: “So turns out I’m a billionaire now.”

He hears Derek gasp softly beside him and he closes his eyes, his chest aching as he waits for the man to finally say something.

“Well,” Derek sighs. “That’s unfortunate.”

Stiles turns his head to look at him with a confused frown.

“I really don’t know if I can be with a man so much wealthier than I am,” the man says, face unreadable.

Stiles’ heart is beating in his throat, and he almost stops breathing at what Derek is suggesting, but then the man’s face breaks into a smirk and Stiles groans, hiding his face in his hands.

“Oh my God, please never do that again. My tiny heart is fragile, okay?” he huffs, sending Derek a half-hearted glare when the man chuckles.

“Don’t worry, you’re stuck with me,” Derek whispers, sliding a hand through Stiles’ hair.

Stiles hums in appreciation. “Seriously though, what the hell am I gonna do with all that money?”

Derek shrugs. “I’m sure that whatever you do with it will be for a good cause.”

“Yeah,” he sighs.

After a long silence, he turns to his boyfriend again. “Thank you.”

Derek looks at him for a minute, and apparently he finds what he’s looking for, because he just nods and moves in for a kiss, cupping Stiles’ cheek in his big, warm hand. Kissing him until Stiles melts in his arms.

A tiny gust of wind makes him pull back and he smiles when he catches a butterfly fluttering away. Kenny was right. He may have received a bunch of gifts from his mother, but his ultimate gift is sitting right beside him.

He lays his head on Derek’s shoulder and silently vows to devote the rest of his life to making this man happy. He finally figured out how to live his life.

For Derek. For Kenny.

 

Always.

 

 

Bewaren

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick thank you to all you lovely people who have read, subscribed, bookmarked, left kudos and/or comments on this story, you guys mean the world to me! My next story has a ridiculous amount of chapters, so I will be writing most of those before I start posting again, but I hope I will see you guys again for my future stories :)
> 
> Love, Lily.
> 
> Like my writing? Feel free to [subscribe](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LillianDeLooney/profile) to me!


	14. The Gift of Love - Alternative Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~ Stiles learns to love unconditionally ~

**April**

 

When Stiles is able to pull himself out of the dark and gloomy mess his mind currently consists of, he realizes that he’s frozen. He’s just standing there, at the top of multiple flights of stairs. The sudden ‘bang’ of the door downstairs shakes him and he finally remembers how to move.

“Derek wait!”, he calls, but knows it’s futile.

He races down the steps, trying to catch up with Derek, though the man is probably long gone by now. Reaching the ground floor, he barges through the door and into the lobby. When there’s no sign of Derek, he runs outside, just in time to see Derek climb into a cab and speed off.

“ _Damn it_ ,” he curses.

He runs a shaky hand through his hair, trying to figure out what the hell to do now. Everything inside him is screaming to follow Derek, to be there for him. To be there for Kenny, if she’s even –

He cuts that thought off real quickly and fishes in his pocket for his car keys. He doesn’t know if Derek wants him there with him right now, but Stiles isn’t just going to stay here and wait for news. There’s just no way. He rushes to the parking lot and gets inside his car, speeding to the hospital soon after.

He’s aware that he’s probably breaking quite a few traffic laws right now, but he honestly couldn’t care less. He _needs_ to get to that hospital. His mind keeps flashing back to Derek while he drives. To how crushed he looked. How panicked. How _defeated_. His hands tighten on the steering wheel and he prays to the God he doesn’t believe in.

Prays that it isn’t _too late_.

 

* * *

  
He parks his car and barely spares a second to lock the damn thing. His heart is racing, his mind one giant mess of scary thoughts, drowning out everything else. He’s running, literally slamming through the hospital’s entrance without a single thought spared to the people around.  
  
He has single-minded focus on getting to Kenny. He doesn’t stop at the desk at the front, knowing already where to go. Like Derek had earlier, he foregoes the elevators and races to the stairs, taking them two at a time in his rush to get to the little girl’s hospital room.

When he finally reaches the right floor, he throws the door open and stumbles into the hallway, quickly righting himself and running the last few steps to reach the room. His heartbeat is pounding in his ears so loudly that he almost misses the sound of crying from inside.

. . . Almost.

He skids to a halt as he reaches the door, his face crumbling as his eyes fall on the crying man sitting inside the room, head buried in his hands and his slumped shoulders heaving from the wrecked sobs he is unable to hold back.

“Derek,” he speaks past the lump in his throat, voice cracking over the syllables.

The man looks up, and the smile on his face is so out of place that the tears in Stiles’ eyes promptly start spilling over.

“What the fuck are you _smiling_ about?!” he cries, overcome with emotion. Because it is glaringly obvious Kenny isn’t here and he just – he _can’t_ , he needs to fucking _breathe_ , he –

Derek stands up and quickly makes his way to Stiles, prompting him to breathe again. Stiles complies after a few seconds, but only because Derek’s face speaks of relief instead of loss and devastation.

“She’s okay,” Derek says shakily, brushing first the tears off Stiles’ face and then off his own.

“Then where the hell is she?” he demands.

“Surgery,” the man says, putting a hand over Stiles’ mouth with a half-hearted glare when he wants to object before Derek is done talking. Which is a good thing, because he wouldn’t have wanted to miss the man’s next words for anything. “She’s getting a transplant.”

“What?” Stiles breathes when Derek removes his hand, almost afraid to believe it. “She’s . . .?”

Derek nods with a shaky smile. “She’s getting a new heart.”

“Oh my God,” he whispers, new tears rolling down his cheek as the tension leaves his body. Derek nods and embraces him, both of them holding on tight to each other.

“She’s okay,” Derek repeats. It sounds like he’s reassuring himself as much as Stiles. He squeezes tighter for a moment and then releases him, leaning back a little.

“Do you think she’ll kill me if I buy her a present from the gift shop again instead of a real store?”

Derek chuckles and shakes his head. “I think she’ll forgive you if you buy her the insanely large stuffed wolf. She’s been eyeing it for months.”

Stiles sighs and draws him back into a hug. He’ll happily buy her things she wants (but is probably afraid to ask for) for the rest of his life. He will stay with these two beautiful people for as long as they’ll have him.

 

* * *

 

 

About two weeks later, Kenny is finally allowed to leave the hospital. They take her back to Derek’s apartment and spend the day watching Disney movies and cuddling on the couch, Kenny sandwiched between him and her father.

Later that week, the three of them are sitting on a bench in the park. The very same bench where they first met. It seems so long ago now, even though it hasn’t even been a year.

“Hey Stiles, can I borrow some money for ice cream?” Kenny pipes up with an innocent smile.

“Sure . . .” he trails off, not sure what she’s planning. But she is planning something, he knows that much.

He hands her the money and she smiles sweetly at him, standing up from the bench and planting her hands on her hips as she stares him down.

“Now, I am going to go over there very slowly and get my ice cream, giving you the time to talk to my dad about whatever it is you’ve been holding in for the past days. Okay? You’ve got ten minutes.”

With that she turns around and strolls to the ice cream truck, and he and Derek watch her go with similar smiles.

“God, I missed her.”

Derek agrees with a sigh. “So what did you want to talk about?”

Stiles rubs his neck, uncertain. “Right, yeah . . . that.” He sighs. “It’s just, I’ve been here every day since she came out of the hospital and I realized that maybe you’d want to spend time alone with her instead of with me here all the time?”

“That’s ridiculous,” Derek says.

He huffs. “Right, sorry.”

“And there’s really no need to apologize.”

“Sorry.”

Derek flicks his ear teasingly and Stiles huffs out a laugh.

“Honestly,” Derek admits with a sigh, “I’m really glad you stayed. I guess some part of me was still worried that you’d leave us when all this was over. Especially since you seemed so unsure about who you are, probably thinking me and Kenny deserve someone better. But you stayed.”

He frowns lightly. “I’d never leave you.”

Derek’s face softens. “I know.”

They’re silent for a minute. Stiles looks to the side and sees that Derek’s eyes are already on him. So fond. So beautiful.

“I love you, Derek.”

The man smiles. “I know.”

Stiles huffs and goes in for a kiss, then leans their foreheads together.

“I love you, too,” Derek whispers, gently rubbing their noses together. Stiles kisses him again and sighs.

Yeah, they’ll be alright.

 

* * *

 

It has been a few months and he, Derek and Kenny slowly but surely return to their normal lives. Kenny still has to come back to the hospital a lot for check-ups, but she’s recovering well and everyone’s relief is palpable.

They have both been looking forward to today, especially. Stiles had pushed and used all his resources to make sure it would be done as fast as possible, and today he and everyone else who shows up can finally see the end result.

It’s the official opening of Kenny’s Home.

They all stand outside, on the green lawn in front of the finished building, standing proud and beautiful in front of them. The three of them are there, along with the rest of Derek’s family. The new staff, and a couple of the business people he worked with to get the project off the ground. Random people who were interested and decided to show up, and even the press, news reporters and the mayor are present.

The man stands in front of them now, making a short speech before he officially opens Kenny’s Home.

“As mayor of our beautiful town, it is my extreme honour and privilege to preside over the ground-breaking for Kenny’s Home. It is an even happier day, in that the namesake and the inspiration for this incredible project, is here with us today. Recovering well from the heart transplant that saved her life.”

The mayor takes the shovel that’s handed to him and motions for Stiles, Derek and Kenny to join him in front of the small crowd.

“Derek, Kenny, Stiles,” he says and finally puts his foot on the shovel so that it sinks into the earth beneath it, making the opening official.

The people around them applaud as they shake hands with the mayor. Stiles even catches a glimpse of Deaton and Morrell, also clapping and giving him proud little smiles.

After he and Derek have shaken hands with everyone, Deaton walks up to him. Stiles expects another handshake, but the man surprises him by smirking and going in for a hug. Stiles returns it a bit awkwardly.

“I am so proud of the man you’ve become,” Deaton tells him when they’re not hugging anymore.

“Thanks in great part to you,” he admits.

Deaton nods. “Meet me at my office here in town as soon as possible, will you? I have one more matter I need to discuss.”

“Of course,” Stiles agrees with a small frown. He didn’t know the man had an office here, but it certainly explains how he shows up so quickly all the time.

“Do you like it?” he asks Derek, who is staring at the building in awe.

“Love it,” he says. “How could I not?”

“You think Kenny likes it?” he asks, looking over at the little girl as she stands in front of the welcome-sign a little away from them.

Derek sighs and smiles. “Absolutely.”

He visits Deaton at his office the very next day. His secretary leads him to a conference room and Deaton asks Morrell to show everyone out when Stiles enters. He takes a seat next to the man and waits expectantly for him to start talking.

The man regards him for a moment, then finally opens his mouth to speak. “Stiles, if you made it this far, you’re mother left you one final message.”

He nods to a door in the corner and Stiles stands up to go over there, entering the room behind it. It looks like a recording room of some sort; dark, with various types of equipment standing around. There is a chair standing in the middle of it all, a small lamp on a side table offering the only light in the room.

A little wary, he takes a seat. The screen in front of him, which he had failed to notice until now, jumps on and starts projecting a video.

Of his mother.

The sight of his mother takes him completely by surprise, a lump rising in his throat. In the video, she’s sitting in the same chair he is sitting now, in this same room. But she isn’t wearing a suit, like the woman he remembers. She’s wearing simple jeans and a soft-looking jumper.

The last time Stiles saw her like that feels like a lifetime ago.

That, _that_ woman is his mother. All the fight drains out of him at the mere sight of her and he is powerless to fight to wobbly smile on his lips. God, he missed her.

“Stiles,” she says and smiles back at him. It’s almost as if she’s here, sitting in front of him as they have a conversation that is probably long overdue.

“Yeah,” he breathes, unable to say anything else.

“Honey, if you’re standing here now it means that, not only have you succeeded receiving all of my gifts, but have done so beyond the boundaries that I have said. I guess that means that I have succeeded as well.”

His mother takes a deep breath and it looks like she’s swallowing a lump in her throat. Stiles tries to do the same, but doesn’t have much success.

“What I could not accomplish in life,” his mom continues, “I’ve hopefully done in death. Knowing that I won’t get the chance to see you grow up . . . Looking back, there are a lot of things I should have done differently. I failed you as a mother. I failed to teach you the important things in life. So I hope,” she takes a deep breath again, eyes watery. “I hope that with my gifts, I still taught you. I must have, if you’ve come this far and Stiles, I am _so_ proud of you. I love you, baby.”

“I love you, too,” he whispers, voice thick.

His mom nods and sends him a watery smile. “Goodbye Stiles.”

The screen stops projecting the video and Stiles stares blankly ahead. He takes a couple of deep breaths, just sitting there. All the anger he had felt towards her for so long, all the pent up frustration . . . he can finally let go of it now. He’s done with it. He’ll remember this woman, the mother he had before money started ruling their lives, and move on.

He exits the room and joins Deaton and Morrell in the conference room, taking a seat at the table again. Deaton presents him with a box. The man opens it and takes a folded paper out of it. He unfolds it and clears his throat, while Stiles just closes his eyes so he can listen to whatever it is he has to in order to finish things here.

“As executor of the estate of Claudia Stilinski, I hereby execute and otherwise assign complete and controlling interest to Stiles Stilinski.”

His eyes snap open and he whips his head to the side in astonishment. There’s no way he heard that right.

“The bounds of Claudia’s estate,” Deaton continues. “Including all holdings and investments portfolio and offshore interests, totalling an excess of two billion dollars.”

Stiles can’t breathe.

Deaton smirks. “Depending on currency fluctuations and things like that, of course.”

He buries his face in his hands. He’s a freaking _billionaire_.

And he has _no clue_ what the hell to do with such an insane amount of money.

Later that night, he meets up with Derek in the park. Stiles is already sitting on their bench when Derek walks up and joins him.

“Hi,” Derek greets him tentatively.

“Hey,” Stiles mumbles, tilting his head to the sky and staring at the stars for a bit. He wonders if she’s out there, keeping an eye on them. His mother. Would be nice, he thinks. Still looking up, he says: “So turns out I’m a billionaire now.”

He hears Derek gasp softly beside him and he closes his eyes, his chest aching as he waits for the man to finally say something.

“Well,” Derek sighs. “That’s unfortunate.”

Stiles turns his head to look at him with a confused frown.

“I really don’t know if I can be with a man so much wealthier than I am,” the man says, face unreadable.

Stiles’ heart is beating in his throat, and he almost stops breathing at what Derek is suggesting, but then the man’s face breaks into a smirk and Stiles groans, hiding his face in his hands.

“Oh my God, please never do that again. My tiny heart is fragile, okay?” he huffs, sending Derek a half-hearted glare when the man chuckles.

“Don’t worry, you’re stuck with me,” Derek whispers, sliding a hand through Stiles’ hair.

Stiles hums in appreciation. “Seriously though, what the hell am I gonna do with all that money?”

Derek shrugs. “I’m sure that whatever you do with it will be for a good cause.”

“Yeah,” he sighs.

After a long silence, he turns to his boyfriend again. “Thank you.”

Derek looks at him for a minute, and apparently he finds what he’s looking for, because he just nods and moves in for a kiss, cupping Stiles’ cheek in his big, warm hand. Kissing him until Stiles melts in his arms.

A tiny gust of wind makes him pull back and he smiles when he catches a butterfly fluttering away. Kenny was right. He may have received a bunch of gifts from his mother, but his ultimate gift is sitting right beside him.

He lays his head on Derek’s shoulder and silently vows to devote the rest of his life to making this man and his daughter happy. He finally figured out how to live his life.

For Derek. For Kenny.

 

Always.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick thank you to all you lovely people who have read, subscribed, bookmarked, left kudos and/or comments on this story, you guys mean the world to me! My next story has a ridiculous amount of chapters, so I will be writing most of those before I start posting again, but I hope I will see you guys again for my future stories :)
> 
> Love, Lily.
> 
> Like my writing? Feel free to [subscribe](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LillianDeLooney/profile) to me!


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